


All Happy Families

by bluebright_l, Nomme_de_Plume



Series: The Pursued, the Pursuing - AU [13]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe-1920s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-20
Updated: 2013-03-22
Packaged: 2017-11-14 17:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 79,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebright_l/pseuds/bluebright_l, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/pseuds/Nomme_de_Plume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet another continuation of our 1920s AU - Same warnings apply. Hang on to your butts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Ripple Effect

“Pregnant.” The word tasted like ash in his mouth, and Theon took a deep breath. His heart felt like a chunk of lead in his chest, and his fingers went to the scar below his collarbone unknowingly. “But...that’s...Mya, are you sure?” He studied her face, watching a range of emotions flit across her features, too fast for him to fully read.  
  
Finally, she nodded, looking down at her hands. “I’ve just come from the doctor. He says about six weeks, two months maybe.”  
  
“Six weeks.” Theon raked a hand through his hair, trying to work out the dates, count out the months. The feeling of helplessness that was building around him was overwhelming. “So when did this...?”  
  
“Thanksgiving, he thinks.” Mya was still staring at her hands clenched together with white knuckles. “I’m due middle or end of August.”  
  
“Thanksgiving.” Theon said numbly, pacing the room. “Thanks-fucking- _giving_.” On the last syllable he slammed the heel of his hand against the frame of the door, causing the wall to shudder and Mya to jump, trying to bite back a gasp and failing. “How could this’ve happened? We were careful!”  
  
“W-we weren’t _that_ careful, Theon. Not all the time.” Mya wouldn’t, or couldn’t, look at him, and her voice had a controlled quaver to it that suggested she was holding back tears.  
  
 _I swear to God, If she cries..._ Theon clenched his hands in his pockets, trying not to snap at her. He knew she was right, and knew it was his fault. He hadn’t even tried to control himself in weeks...he’d had her dozens of times, and he couldn’t remember the last time they’d used a rubber. “What the fuck am I supposed to do now, Mya? We can’t have a- a fucking _baby_!”  
  
Mya looked up at him, and he could see unshed tears welling up in her eyes. “Don’t you think I know that, Theon? I know this isn’t a good time for it but what am _I_ supposed to do?” Her voice broke on the last word and she covered her mouth with a hand, looking away.  
  
A sudden thought broke through the confusion in his mind, and Theon sat in front of her again, only to spring up, unable to contain his nervous energy. “I’ll talk to Asha,” he said. “She’ll know a man who can take care of it. Discreetly.”  
  
“Take care of it?” Mya followed him with her eyes, and he shot her a look, unable to tell if she truly didn’t understand, or just didn’t want to.  
  
“You know...take _care_ of it?” Theon gestured with his hands, willing her to understand.  
  
He saw the moment she did, saw the shudder of shock and revulsion that passed through her. “No. Theon, no. I’m not going to let some back-alley butcher slice me up. How could you even suggest that? You know that could very well kill our baby _and_ me?”  
  
Theon’s gut twisted painfully, and he sank down into the chair opposite Mya again. He hadn’t asked for this, for any of this, but he didn’t want anything to happen to her. _You couldn’t live with yourself..._ “What’re we going to do, then? You’re still in school, I’m-...I can’t be a father. I’d do it more harm than good.” His own father’s face, and that of Ned Stark’s, were swimming in front of his eyes.  
  
“We could give it up. There’re plenty of families who’d raise it...”  
  
The anguish in her voice was plain to hear, and Theon took a deep breath, pushing his anger down. _Handle this, Greyjoy...what would Robb do?_ Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Theon scooted closer, cupping her cheek with a hand and giving her a weary smile. “Are you...I mean, how do you feel?”   
  
Mya covered his hand with hers, giving a faint smile. “Terrified. Dizzy. Exhausted. I suppose that’s all normal though.”  
  
Now that she mentioned it, he could see just how tired she was, and he stood, pulling her close to him. The scent of her shampoo, lilies or lilacs or some other flower he could never remember, washed over him and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Tell you what. Take a cab. Go back to my place, and tonight we’ll work this out, alright?”  
  
They stood stock-still for a beat, clinging to each other in the cold interview room. Mya pulled away after a moment and looked up at him, evidently somewhat reassured by his touch. “We’ll be ok, right?”  
  
Assuming an air of certainty he didn’t feel, he nodded and kissed her, letting it linger. “One way or another, we’ll be alright.”  
  
\------------  
  
Theon watched from the front steps of the stationhouse as the cab bearing his lover, _the mother of your unborn child, you fucking idiot,_ sped off into the wet, slushy snow of early January. He loved Mya, there was no question of that. But...a baby? Theon’s head was beginning to ache just thinking about it, and he still wasn’t convinced his first, knee-jerk reaction wasn’t the appropriate one. He resolved to go see Asha and just hear what she had to say, much as he dreaded it.  
  
Heading back into the station, he came across Robb leaning across the front desk fishing for a pen. “Hey, what was going on with Mya?” he asked, concern wrinkling his forehead. “Lannister said she looked sick or something...” Since Theon’s run-in with Ramsay Bolton, Robb had become oddly protective of Mya. Theon couldn’t decide if it was endearing or annoying...mostly it depended on his mood.  
  
“Ah, just a little bug, I think. She was upset with me for blowin’ off a date the other day,” he replied, keeping his tone light. This was not something he was ready to share with Robb yet.  
  
Robb tsk-ed at him, wagging a finger playfully. “You know _I’m_ gonna hear about it now, right? Although, I gotta say, Roslin’s warmed up to you...she might even agree to another double date sometime, if we can catch her in the right mood.”  
  
Theon smiled ruefully. Roslin had warmed up to him since he’d nearly died...and he suspected Mya had had words with her as well. But once she found out what he’d done, how he’d fucked up Mya’s life? Well, he had no illusions about how that would go.  
  
“Hey, listen, pal, I gotta run a few errands, drop some papers down at City Hall. Need anything while I’m out?” Theon needed to get out, have a drink, and do some hard thinking. He lowered his voice. “Want me to pick up a little supply?”  
  
Robb bit his lower lip indecisively, looking down into his lukewarm mug of coffee. “Well...aw hell, go ahead.”  
  
Theon laughed. “Really had to twist your arm there, Stark. Alright,” he said, gathering up the keys to the Rolls. “I may or may not be back by 5. If not, catch a ride with someone.”  
  
“Or I could just take a squad car...” Robb said, grinning.  
  
“...just catch a ride.” Theon said, shaking his head as he headed out the door. Robb was a piss-poor driver, and they both knew it.  
  
Twenty minutes later, he was pulling up behind Asha’s little breezer in the back alley at her club. Lefty Codd was at the door, as usual, and Theon blew by him with a muttered “But rises again, harder and stronger”. The club was sparsely populated this time of day, right after lunch, but he knew it would pick up in a few hours. He hoped to have come to some sort of conclusion by then.  
  
“Hey sis,” Theon said, slipping behind Asha and grabbing himself a glass from above the bar. “I need a favor.”  
  
“Ha!” Asha finished mixing the drinks she’d been pouring and turned to him with a familiar smirk. “So my baby brother needs a favor, huh? Spill.”  
  
“Not here,” he told her. “Your office?”  
  
She just laughed and poured him a whiskey. “Come on, then.”  
  
Theon threw himself onto the scuffed leather couch in Asha’s office, downing his drink in one go. “Mya’s knocked up,” he said bluntly, watching his sister for her reaction, though he thought he knew what it would be.  
  
True to form, she quirked an eyebrow at him and burst into low, musical laughter. “And it’s yours?”  
  
He resisted the urge to smack her right across her smirking face, if only because he knew she’d pop him one right back. “Oh please, she’s not some quiff,” Theon gave his sister a look. “Of course it’s mine.”  
  
“And?” Asha sat in the chair across from him, kicking her heels off and tucking her legs under her. “Whaddya need from me, baby brother?”  
  
“Well...” He eyed her warily...she was being surprisingly obliging. “Advice, I guess. And maybe the name of a man...” Asha sipped her drink, staring at him poker faced. “Y’know, someone who can...take care of it?”  
  
“You’re a real sweetheart, aren’t ya?” Asha said, setting her drink down suddenly. “Goddamn, Theon...but I don’t know why I should’ve expected anything else.” She leaned forward, and Theon felt pinned by her dark gaze. “What does Mya want?”  
  
Theon shook his head. “She wants it, I think.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he just shrugged wordlessly.  
  
“Of course she does, Theon. God, you idiot.” The look Asha gave him let him know she wasn’t going to hold back...not that Asha ever did. “She’s a good girl, for Chrissake. A nice, sweet girl, who has no business being with a nasty piece of work like you.”  
  
“Love you too, sis,” Theon said bitterly. Not that he didn’t often think the same, but it was another thing to hear it coming from your own sister.  
  
“Don’t be a baby,” Asha retorted. “You know I’m right. Now, I know a man that could take care of it, sure. He’s real good...only loses a third of the women he operates on.”  
  
Theon swallowed hard at the mental image that came to his mind, unbidden, of Mya laid out on a bloody operating table, her body white and cold as marble. “I...need another drink, I think,” he said, pushing himself off the couch. He’d been about to admit he didn’t know what else to do, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that weakness to his sister.  
  
“You can have another one when I’m done,” Asha said sharply, “so sit down.” Surprised, Theon didn’t even argue, but just sat, startled.  “Now, let’s get something straight. I normally don’t give a shit what you do, Theon. You’ve made your choices and I’ve made mine, and we’ve both done what we had to do after...after everything. But I’m not gonna sit here and let you send that sweet little hayseed to some whore’s butcher.”  
  
“Asha, I-” But trying to get a word in was next to useless.  
  
“No, I’m not done. Don’t you think it’s high time you grew up, brother? You live in a goddamn guest house and you chauffeur that Stark sap around so much you should have a little hat and jacket. Now, you’re do what you’re gonna do, but you said you wanted advice, so I’m gonna give it.”  
  
Theon gestured ‘go on’ wordlessly.  
  
“Seems to me you’ve got two choices. Either find someone to take the baby, or get hitched. I’m not tellin’ you which to choose, but I am tellin’ you to be a grown man, for the first time in your life. And if you try and sweet-talk her into getting a ‘procedure’, I will personally beat your ass. You understand?”  
  
True to her word, once she’d said her piece, Asha stood, took his glass and went to her desk, pouring them both doubles from the bottle in her top drawer. Theon tried for a charming smile, though Asha seemed to be immune to his particular brand of charm. “So, sis...” She glanced up at him, and he swallowed hard, but pressed on. “Don’t you want a-”  
  
“Just stop right there, Theon. The answer’s no. Not in a million fucking years.” She handed him his glass with an icy glare.   
  
“Fine, fine...just thought I’d ask.” Theon took his drink gratefully, savoring the burn of the cheap hooch as it settled in his belly. “Well,” he said, looking at his sister. “Whaddya think? What would you do?”  
  
Asha looked distinctly uncomfortable for the first time that he could remember, and she took a long drink before answering him. “This isn’t about me, Theon. But if I were Mya...” She gazed at him steadily, and Theon could feel her taking his measure. Suddenly, she hopped up and came to sit beside him on the sofa, throwing an arm over his shoulders. “Well, she does love you, y’know. And if I thought you were capable of loving anyone besides yourself, it’d be her.”  
  
He elbowed her in the ribs. “I do, y’know. Love her.” And he did. But admitting it to Asha seemed...wrong, somehow. “But, fucking hell, Asha. Me, with a wife and a fucking kid?” She elbowed him back, sharper than he’d elbowed her, but didn’t speak, letting him think things through. “But then on the other hand...that’s my damn kid. I’m not letting some stranger raise a Greyjoy. Ah, fuck me, Asha, I’m having a baby.”  
  
“And getting hitched,” she grinned. “Don’t forget that part. My baby brother, a family man...I never thought I’d see the day.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Theon grumbled. “Well, I suppose I’d better go get some sort of ring, and do this right. Thanks for the drink,” he said, hesitating as he rose. “And the advice, I guess.”  
  
“Theon, wait.” Asha grabbed his wrist, pulling him back down onto the couch as she pulled herself up. “I’ve got something maybe you could use.” She went to her desk again, crouching in front of her floor safe. “This was Ma’s...Pop took it off a man he killed, a jeweler who’d cheated him. Damn it all, where’d I put- Oh, here we go.” She plopped back down by Theon and setting a thin, silvery ring with a rectangular diamond in his hand. “Emerald-cut, it’s called. It’s not a big stone, but...” Asha shrugged. “It’s pretty.”  
  
“Asha...” Theon didn’t know what to say. He vaguely recalled seeing the ring on his mother’s finger, mainly because she never wore much other jewelry. It had to be one of the only things Asha had of hers. “You don’t want it?”  
  
Asha laughed, but she slung an arm around Theon again, leaning close, and he felt her lips brush his temple. “Nope, what would I do with a ring like that? Anyway, I’ve got her necklace,” she said, pulling a long pendant out from under the neckline of her dress. A small silver scythe dangled at the end of a long chain.  
  
Theon reached out and touched the point of the scythe, dagger sharp, with a fingertip; he remembered this necklace much clearer than the ring. It was the only jewelry his mother wore every day, and when he was very young and sick in bed, she would unclasp the chain and let him examine the small pendant as she told him the story behind it, something to do with her Harlaw roots, he remembered distantly.  
  
“Ma...” Theon glanced at Asha, whose expression was distant and thoughtful. “Asha, I...”  
  
“I don’t wanna talk about it, Theon. Worry about this right now, yeah? And if you have a little gal, name her Asha.” She grinned at him, giving him a little push up off the couch.  
  
Theon snorted, offering his sister a hand up. “One of you’s enough, thanks.”  
  
Asha waved his hand off, stretching out on the couch. “Just get outta here. Go get yourself a ball and chain, baby brother.”  
  
\-----------  
  
Theon took the long way home, the familiar act of driving a balm for his disturbed mind. The driveway was slick by the time he pulled in to Riverrun, iced over with sleet and slush, and he could see the tracks where a cab had dropped Mya off hours ago. The ring in his pocket seemed to weigh a metric ton, and there was a faint ringing in his ears. Theon hadn’t ever given marriage much thought, nor kids either, and now here he was about to accept both like it was the most natural thing in the world.  
  
The cottage was quiet and dark when he entered, and Theon could hear a steady rise and fall of breathing that he’d come to recognize as Mya’s as she slept. He slipped off his shoes and snuck into the bedroom, smiling wanly at the way Mya turned towards his weight on the bed in her sleep. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face and studied her for a moment, noting the way she curled protectively around her still-flat belly. _Get used to it, chump,_ he told himself.  
  
“Mya. Mya, doll,” Theon bent and kissed her forehead. “C’mon, wake up.”  
  
“Mmm, I’m up, I’m up...” She cracked one eye and scooted closer to him, pointedly not throwing the covers back. “It’s just cozy in here.”  
  
“Mya...” Theon stopped, suddenly realizing most women probably wanted a more romantic proposal than he was about to give. “Sweetheart, sit up and look at me, will you?”  
  
Heaving a huge sigh, she did as he asked, curling up in his lap as he leaned back against the headboard. “Is this better, Detective?” She still wasn’t looking him in the eye, though, and Theon had a sneaking suspicion it was to keep from crying.  
  
“It’ll do,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Now, listen-”  
  
“Before you start, you should know...” Mya took a deep breath and pulled back to look at him, finally. He was surprised to see her chin set in determination, and not quivering. “Going to see a man to _take care_ of...this situation.” She placed a hand on her belly, and he covered it with his instinctively. “It’s dangerous, Theon. I can’t...you can’t really want-”  
  
“I don’t,” he interrupted her. “That was a stupid thing to say, I just...I just panicked. But no, you’re right. That’s out of the question. Now-”  
  
“So you want to give it up then? Find a good family and-”  
  
“Jesus H. Christ, Mya, would you let me finish?” Theon kicked himself internally. This was no way to start a marriage proposal, but she wouldn’t let him get the words out.  
  
“Yes. Fine. Sorry.” Her mouth snapped shut and she looked at him expectantly, with no small amount of annoyance.  
  
“First things first. You know I love you, right?” He waited for an answer, but all she did was nod, a tiny smile creeping across her face, so he went on. “Good. Now, give us a kiss, then close your eyes.”  
  
“This is ridiculous,” Mya said, pecking his lips and closing her eyes. “Would you just-”  
  
Theon rolled his eyes and flipped her underneath him, kissing her into silence. When they came up for air, she peeked at him with one eye open, but closed it at the look he gave her. He fumbled in his pocket and came up with the ring, groping for one of her hands with his free hand. “Now, I know I’m not what you’d call father material by anybody’s count, but this baby is _our_ baby...mine and yours, and I’m not about to let someone else raise our kid. So- no, shhh...” He kissed her again when she opened her mouth to speak. “Let me finish. So you and I are gonna do it, and goddamnit, we’re gonna do it right. Marry me, Mya.” He slipped the ring on her finger, carefully, as if that would negate the decidedly unromantic proposal.  
  
Mya opened her eyes and blinked up at him, her gaze never leaving his, not even to look at the rock on her finger. “Theon, I- Really? You’re sure?”  
  
“Sure as I’m gonna get, dove. I mean, why not? You love me, I love you, and I’m not givin’ my own flesh and blood away.” He hadn’t even known he was thinking it, but as soon as he said it, Theon knew it was his own father he was thinking of, and how he could at _least_ do better than Balon Greyjoy had done. “So, what do you say?”  
  
“Hmmm, I don’t know...” Mya giggled at his scowl. “Well, since you were so romantic about it...” She kissed him, and he could taste the tiniest bit of salt on her lips...one tear, or maybe two, but when she pulled away, her smile was bright and wide. “Yes, of course. Yes.”


	2. Fratnerity

It was dark by the time Robb caught a lift home, and Theon’s cottage was still dark. He wondered where his friend had gone off to, and thought again about the suddenness that he’d left with earlier in the day. Trudging up the front steps, he fished his keys out of his coat pocket and let himself in. Riverrun was always good to come home to - always warm, and if Jeyne was in the kitchen the entire first floor would smell of whatever pies or breads or cakes she was making. _You gotta cut back on those, buddy._ Robb dropped his heavy wool overcoat on the coat rack next to the door, rubbing his hand across his stomach. _Rosie’ll have your neck if you don’t fit into your tux._  
  
Even though his wedding was a good six months off, Robb was already getting nervous tics in his stomach when he thought about it. He supposed it was courtesy of Roslin - just after midnight on New Year’s, she’d turned to him, cinnamon eyes gleaming, and poked his belly. “It’s 1925, Robby,” she’d said. “We’re getting married this year!” It had made the fact seem that much more real, and Robb had taken a long pull off the sparkling cider Sansa had poured him, wishing he’d taken Theon’s offer of a flask earlier.  
  
 _You’ve got nothing to be nervous about. Well, except telling Jon that he’s going to have to wear a pink cummerbund...shit, Jon! He’s supposed to get measured for his tuxedo._ Robb took the stairs up to the second floor two at a time, bursting into Sansa’s room. “Sansa, what’s Jon’s exchange up north?”  
  
Sansa looked up from her schoolbooks, slightly startled. “I- I don’t know. I never call him. Ask Arya, she’s always on the horn to him.”  
  
Arya’s room was just next to Sansa’s, and as messy as Sansa’s was picture-perfect. Arya was stretched out on her bed, carefully tuning the radio Robb recognized as his into the Army-Navy game. “Oi, I told you to ask before you take stuff out of my room.”  
  
Arya looked up from the dial, having the good graces to at least look guilty. “You weren’t here though. I thought you wouldn’t mind.”  
  
Robb waved off her weak apology. “What’s Jon’s number? I know he’s not at Winterfell right now, they’re redoing the floors.”  
  
“WNF469.” Arya rattled off. “He’s staying with one of his friends. Sam something or other.”  
  
“Thanks. And put that back when the game’s done, got it?” Robb trotted back down the stairs and within minutes, was waiting while the other end rang.  
  
“Tarly residence, Jon speaking.”  
  
“Jon. Robb.” Robb ran his hand through his hair, glancing out the window. Theon had just pulled up to his cottage and was climbing the porch stairs, shoulders slumped and one hand in his pocket. _I hope Mya’s ma didn’t get sick again..._  
  
“Robb, what’re you up to?” Jon’s voice drove all thoughts of Mya’s mother or her illnesses out of Robb’s head. “How was your New Year’s?”  
  
“It was good, real good. How was yours?”  
  
“Eh.” He could hear Jon shrugging over the line. “Boring. There’s not much in the way of clubs or anyplace to go up here, but...it’s something.”  
  
Robb knew that if Jon thought he could be within 150 miles of Catelyn without her knowing it he would, but the facts surrounding Jon’s birth made any sort of stepmother-stepson relationship between the two impossible. “That’s a real shame...hey, listen, I need you to do me a favor. Rosie said we need to get the orders in for the tuxes for the wedding, so I need you to find a tailor up there and get measured, yeah?”  
  
“The wedding’s not till June though.”  
  
“Trust me, I know. But Rosie’s...insistent.”  
  
“Alright, alright. I’ll get some time tomorrow and get it done.” Jon sounded distracted for a second. “It’ll be good to see you again, Robb.”  
  
“Yeah.” Robb realized how much he missed his brother all of a sudden. For half a minute he remembered how he, Theon, and Jon would go traipsing down to the river on a hot summer afternoon, fishing and splashing and swimming until his father would call for them to come and wash up for supper. The memory hurt, he realized. _We’ll never have days like that again. Theon and Jon only got along because they were forced to, and because of me._ “Yeah, it’ll be great to get everyone together again.”  
  
There was a slight muffled sound. _A girl,_ Robb realized. _Jon’s got a girl over. Since when did he even talk to them?_  
  
“Hey, listen, buddy, I hate to cut you off but I’ve got a...friend over.” The slight hesitation in Jon’s voice made Robb’s eyebrows arch.   
  
“What sort of ‘friend’?” He grinned. _I’m his brother. It’s my duty to give him shit._  
  
“A good friend.”  
  
“Mmhmm, what’s her name?” Robb chewed on his lip to keep from laughing. “And how much’re you paying her?”  
  
“Fuck you, Robb. Just try and get my measurements now.” He heard a quiet, high laugh. _Definitely a girl, then._  
  
“Fine then, Roslin’ll be up to get them herself. Good luck with that, she’s been feeling punchy lately.” A slight motion out the window caught his eye - the light in one of the bedrooms of the cottage had flipped on, a dim glow in the wet night. “Listen, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”  
  
“Sure thing. Tell Arya I said hello, and Bran too.”  
  
Hanging up the phone, Robb watched the cottage for a bit. He debated throwing his coat back on, going down there, and not leaving Theon alone until he told him what was up, but decided against it. If Mya’s mother had fallen ill as she had in September, and if Mya was with Theon, she wouldn’t want to be interrupted. _Get him to talk tomorrow._  
  
\-----------  
  
“Alright, Theon, you’ve been bent out of shape since yesterday.” Robb leaned over the linoleum tabletop in the crowded deli, dropping his voice. Even though it was Saturday they’d gone into the station just to wrap up a few loose ends and had managed to cut loose just after noon. Theon had been uncharacteristically quiet all day, the bags under his eyes suggesting he’d not slept the night before. “What happened with Mya? And be honest. You two having problems?” He hoped not, truly. Theon and Mya were one of the most unlikely pairings he could’ve imagined, but they also were one of the best. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Theon so head over heels before and, truth be told, it was pretty damn funny to see his womanizing best friend wrapped around Mya’s finger. All she had to do, it seemed, was bat those baby blues at Theon and he’d tap dance all the way to Duskendale if she wanted.  
  
Theon sighed. “ _Nothing,_ pal. And no, we’re not having problems.”  
  
“Bullshit.” Robb took a long pull off his Coke. “Now tell me. You know if you don’t I’ll just go straight to Roslin. She’ll weasel anything out of your girl.”  
  
There was a long beat, and Theon scrubbed a hand across his face. “I...uh...I asked Mya to marry me last night.” He shifted on the seat.  
  
Robb coughed, choking on his Coke until his eyes watered. “You did _what_? Why?”  
  
“Why not?” Theon shot back defensively.  “She loves me, and you know how I feel about her. Why shouldn’t I ask her?”  
  
Robb stared at Theon for a long moment, and burst out laughing. “I _knew_ it. I fuckin’ knew it. How many times did I tell you that one of these days a girl’d get her hooks in you, Theon? You remember how much grief you gave me when I popped the question to Rosie? You said I was rushing.” Theon didn’t respond, so Robb went on, feeling somewhat vindicated. Theon had been nothing short of a raging asshole to Robb during the first year or so of his relationship with Roslin but at the same time something sounded off. From what he knew of Mya, she wasn’t the type of girl to push a man into something like marriage and God knew Theon wasn’t the kind of man to rush into a lifelong commitment. “I’d like to remind you that you’ve only known Mya for four months. Sixteen weeks, my friend. That, and you told me once you’d rather nail your sack to a railroad than ask a girl to marry you, so what gives?”  
  
Theon shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “It’s the right time. I’ll never find another gal able to tolerate me the way she does and she’s aces in bed so...why not?”  
  
 _What are you not telling me?_ Robb was confused. He shook his head, a thousand questions on his lips. “I...well, I suppose...congratulations then! Hey,” An idea rose out of the tangled mess of his thoughts. “We should talk to Roslin. Maybe she’ll be up for a double wedding?”  
  
“No,” Theon said quickly, shaking his head. “No, it’s got to be a lot sooner than that. The 24th, actually. At my uncle’s church. And I want you to be there.”  
  
“The 24th? Of _this_ month?” Robb nodded at their waitress as she set their plates in front of them and took a bite of his corned beef. “ _Jesus_ , Theon, what’s the rush?”  
  
“No rush. Mya and I just don’t need all the frills that you and Ros do.”  
  
Robb quirked an eyebrow. He knew Mya relatively well; not as well as Roslin or Theon, but well enough to know that she was the kind of girl to want the kind of wedding that took more than two and a half weeks to plan. “That’s bullshit, Greyjoy. You saw the way she and Roslin were giggling over the flowers and cake choices at Christmas. She’s a girl. She wants frills.”   
  
Theon’s lips pressed into a thin line as he picked at his own sandwich, not answering. “What...” Suddenly it all clicked. The expression on Theon’s face as he’d left yesterday, the way Mya had self-consciously tugged her thick winter coat around her middle, Theon’s mention of a little bug and his unwillingness to give a straight answer... Robb sat back, floored, and dropped his sandwich. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she.” The look on Theon’s face was all the answer he needed. “Son of a _bitch_.”  
  
“Look, it’s not like we planned it this way or anything. And don’t you dare go telling anyone, Robb. I mean it. No one. Not your ma, not Roslin, _no one_. We want to keep it quiet for awhile.” Theon looked downright twitchy now, his gaze flicking around the deli as if he expected Alla Tyrell to pop up for this deep scoop.  
  
“I know what ‘no one’ means.” Robb snapped. “How could you be so _stupid_ , though, Theon? You buy rubbers by the case, and you couldn’t take five seconds to put one on all those times you had her?”  
  
“Don’t get all self-righteous with me, Stark, alright? I know. I know we fucked up-”  
  
“You did more than that! I thought you were smarter than that. I thought _she_ was smarter than that, anyway.” Robb’s irritation was welling up, burning in his chest and making his shoulder throb. Leave it to Theon to ruin not only his own life with his irresponsibility, but to drag Mya down too? That was low. She’d had her entire life ahead of her, a promising career. And now what, she’d be shackled to raising Theon’s bastard? What would happen when he got bored of her, of being tied down? Then what? She’d be another single mother on the breadline, or worse.  
  
“I know, alright?!” Theon replied louder than he anticipated, and the deli hushed a bit for a second while he glanced around almost panicked. “I don’t need you riding my ass about this, Stark, got it?”  
  
  
“Well.” There was a beat, and Robb took another sip of Coke and set his glass down. Theon wasn’t the marrying kind. That much had been evident ever since Theon figured out what girls were. Robb knew if it wasn’t for this baby, he never would’ve put a ring on Mya’s finger but the fact that he had was promising. _He could’ve tossed her to the curb, regardless of how he feels, but he didn’t. He’s acting like a man instead of a selfish boy for once. I don’t know who told him it was time to grow up, but good on them._ Robb knew Theon could still waver, could still go running into the night, but he tried not to let his thoughts show on his face. _He doesn’t need my doubts. He’s got enough of his own._ So instead, Robb stuck his hand across the table and grasped Theon’s, pumping it heartily.  
  
“Congratulations then, Pops.” Theon’s grip was a little clammy, Robb noticed, and he looked as though his sandwich wasn’t sitting easily. “Hey, where’re you two gonna live?”  
  
“Same place we are now...well, I am now, anyway.” Theon looked across the table with a guarded expression. “Why? Do you think your Ma’ll have a problem with it?”  
  
Robb shrugged. “Probably not, but it wouldn’t hurt to ask her.” He knew his mother liked Mya and thought she was a good influence on Theon, but also that she disapproved of them essentially living together on the outskirts of her property, in full view of her children. The first time she’d noticed them both leaving the cottage early one morning, she’d given Robb a stern look over her morning coffee, but had said nothing. The second time, she’d pulled him aside before he’d left for work and told him to have a word with Theon about his guest. Robb had had every intention of doing so, but here it was months later and he still hadn’t found the right time. _Better late than never..._ he took a break and tried to sound casual. “She’s not really tickled that you two’ve been shacking up like you have been. Not to mention it’s not that big and now with three of you...”  
  
“Two.” Theon replied sharply. “There’s still just two of us.”  
  
“For now.”  
  
Theon ran a hand through his hair and Robb was surprised to see just how many flecks of grey there were in it now. He knew men sometimes went grey early but not _this_ early. _He’s only 23._  “Nice of her to say something, though. I’ll come up tonight and talk to her, I suppose. Last thing Mya and I need right now is to lose the roof over our heads.”  
  
Privately Robb knew that would never happen, especially now, but a little part of him was looking to take full advantage of this new, grown-up Theon, and to fully test his mettle. Taking another bite out of his sandwich, he grinned a bit. “Have fun with that.”  
  
\-----------  
  
Later that night after the younger children were asleep, Robb was heading out of the kitchen with a leftover sweetroll when the door creaked, and Theon crept in. Robb had to hold back laughter at the expression on his face - he may as well have been facing a firing squad. He shucked off his coat, leaving it on the counter. “Where’s your ma at?”  
  
“The front sitting room with Sansa.” Robb took an enormous bite out of the roll. “They’re crocheting or something.”  
  
Theon grunted. “I suppose you’re gonna sit in and get your kicks on this, aren’t you. I know you’re not going out with Ros - Mya said they were going to a movie tonight, just the two of ‘em.”  
  
Robb shrugged, swallowing with some difficulty. “I’ll give you and Ma some privacy, you want. Might be best. Now stop stalling.” Gripping Theon’s bony shoulders with slightly sticky fingers, he steered him towards the hallway. “Do it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid, yeah?”  
  
Theon shook him off irritably. “Last person I need advice from is you. You probably got a rubber on right now just in case you sneeze too hard, don’t you.”  
  
Wordlessly, Robb shoved him out of the kitchen. He held the swinging door open an inch, watching Theon stride down the green mile of the front foyer. Stopping just outside the foyer, he straightened his collar, checked his fly, and poked his head in. The first bit of conversation was muted, but Robb could pick out Sansa’s higher tones. Sure enough, Sansa slipped out the door and trotted up the stairs. Theon glanced to make sure she was gone, and then disappeared into the front room.  
  
Robb waited five heartbeats before slipping out of his shoes and padding down the foyer in his socks. If he crouched just... _there_. He could see his mother, sitting primly on the brocade chaise, working on a needlepoint pillow. Her hands were still right now as she looked up at Theon, eyebrows slightly raised. She looked tired, Robb noticed, but not as tired as she had. Knowing Vargo Hoat was dead and buried in a pauper’s grave had brought her some peace. _Not as much as it would’ve if he were still alive and ratting out the Lannisters..._ Robb took a deep breath and tried to quiet his thoughts. There was nothing he could do about that right now.   
  
“Sit down, Theon.” Cat nodded at the armchair in front of the fireplace. “What do you need?”  
  
After a second Theon sat, but Robb hadn’t seen him this jittery since he’d accidentally downed a triple espresso instead of his usual dregs from the local cafe. His mouth opened, then shut, and he tried to take a calming breath. “Catelyn, I...need to ask a favor, I suppose.” Robb’s mother gave him a nod to go on. “Would it be alright if...well, you know Mya and I’ve been spending some time together.”  
  
“More than some, Theon.” Robb couldn’t help but grin. He’d been on the receiving end of Catelyn Stark’s disapproving tone more than once in his life, more often than not with Theon right by his side. To see his best friend dangle over the coals on his own brought a flash of vindication that Robb wanted to frame and hang on the wall. “The girl only leaves to change her clothes and then she’s right back again.”  
  
“I know, but-”  
  
Catelyn held up a hand. “I’m actually glad you’ve brought this up. You know I think she’s a sweet girl, but I’ve let your shenanigans with her go on long enough. You’re a grown man now, Theon, and even though you don’t live under my roof, you still live on my property, have full access to my house, and my family. Now, I know coming here like you did when you were young wasn’t easy, but Ned and I tried to do our best by you, and raise you like a son. We looked the other way when you began spending time with young women, mainly because you never brought them into our home, and you never let them stay the night with you. What you did was your business, and you didn’t make it blatantly obvious.” She paused to take a sip out of the teacup sitting on the table next to her, and Robb saw Theon squirm. He wasn’t used to getting lectured, clearly.   
  
“Ever since your...incident in October, you’ve shown a startling lack of discretion, Theon, and you put me in an uncomfortable position. Ned and I raised you like a son because we care about you just as we do Robb, Bran, and Rickon. I didn’t know how to help in the aftermath of your incident, so I decided to let you best decide what you needed. Maybe it was a mistake on my part to let it go on as long as it has, but I’m putting a stop to it right now.” Catelyn’s face took on a stern look. “What you do with Mya is still your business, but it will not happen on my property, in front of my children. I don’t want them to see you taking advantage of a girl like Mya any more, is that clear?”  
  
Theon now resembled a fish left on a dock to drown in dry air. His mouth flapped uselessly, little noises slipping out, and he looked as though the chair he was in was lined with spikes. “She’s having a baby, Cat, she’s having-” Theon stopped mid-sentence, sucking in a panicked breath. “She’s having my baby.”  
  
Catelyn’s eyebrows arched higher at the familiar pet name, one Theon had never used to her face, and rose nearly to her hairline at the next. She remained composed though, setting her needlework aside and folding her hands. “I see. Does this have anything to do with the favor you wanted to ask me?”  
  
Theon shifted on the chair, a vein ticking in his throat. Robb shifted as well; the floor was uncomfortable and his knees were starting to ache. _It’s worth seeing this though._ He saw Theon’s hand reach for his pocket and then stop, as if only now remembering Catelyn didn’t let them smoke in the house. “Yeah, i-it does. I, uh, asked her...I gave her a ring last night.” Unless Robb was imagining things there was a small bead of sweat working its way down Theon’s neck and Robb almost felt sorry for him. Theon was really panicking here, his earlier confidence in the diner long gone. Robb supposed that if it was him in Theon’s shoes he’d be feeling the same way, and felt a small prick of pity for him.  
  
“Giving a girl a ring means nothing unless you intend to go through with it, Theon. I trust you’re not stringing this poor girl on with some dizzy fantasy of a wedding you have no intention of showing up at.”  
  
“No!” Theon’s voice cracked. “I’m doing this right, Cat...elyn,” he added hastily when she gave him another sharp look. “Listen, I know I’ve made some dumb choices, but this isn’t one of them. We’re doing this, she and I, and all I wanted to ask was if we could keep the cottage for a little. I know we can’t stay there forever now, but just for a little bit. Until we get our feet under us.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and suddenly he looked like a little boy again. “Please, Catelyn. I want this kid to have someplace to come home to. If it was just she and I it’d be different but...it’s not. I have to be able to take care of the three of us.”  
  
Something passed over his mother’s face then and her expression softened. For a moment Robb thought she was going to plant a kiss on his forehead, just as she’d done to her own children countless times, but just as soon as she leaned forward, she leaned back again. “Of course you can. There’s two bedrooms there, right? I’ll have Jory pull some of the kids’ old baby things out of the attic. When is Mya due?”  
  
Theon shook his head. “End of the summer? She said the doc wasn’t real specific.”  
  
Catelynn nodded. “Of course.” She stood, brushing her hands over her skirt and for a moment she looked at a loss for words. “You’re doing a good thing, Theon. If Ned were still here I’m sure he’d be proud of you.”  
  
Robb saw Theon’s eyes flick up to her, surprised, but before he could respond she turned and left out of the door that led to the study. Theon slumped in the chair after she left, rubbing his forehead and looking bewildered at what had just happened. He stood abruptly and crossed the room with a few long strides.   
  
_Shit-_ Robb tried to stand and dash for the stairs, but his awkward kneeling had cause his legs to fall asleep. That, combined with the slippery marble under his socks, left him in a sprawled heap as Theon exited the sitting room. He froze when he saw Robb on the floor, and his cheeks flushed. “You asshole! What happened to ‘privacy’?”  
  
Robb snickered as he clambered to his feet. “C’mon, I couldn’t miss you getting a dress-down like th-OI!” He barely managed to duck out of the way as Theon’s fist swung inches from his face, and beat a hasty path back through the kitchen. Theon pounded after him, blowing through the swinging door.  
  
“Come back here, you son of a bitch, I swear to God I’m gonna knock every one’a those pearly whites so far down your throat you’ll shit them out by morning!”    
  
Robb laughed as he slid through the kitchen. His only escape here was into the cold January night, so he grabbed his boots by the kitchen door and managed to get one half on before Theon got into swinging distance again. Abandoning his boots, he fled across the snow-covered back lawn. The screen door slammed as Theon raced after him, and he was laughing now too.  
  
Theon had always been a faster runner than Robb, but he was prone to puttering out after a hundred yards or so, whereas Robb could go for miles if he wanted. Tonight, though, he didn’t have miles and before he’d made it halfway across the unbroken crust of snow Theon tackled him to the ground, shoving his face into the snow. He came up sputtering and nearly crying with laughter. “What gives? I don’t even have any shoes on.”  
  
“Yeah, well, who’s fault is that?” Theon ruffled a handful of snow into Robb’s curls, flopping onto his back and breathing heavy. “Shit, Robb, when’d we get so outta shape?”  
  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Robb sat up, pressing a hand to a stitch in his side and trying to catch his breath. “Fit as we ever were. You just smoke a pack a day now.”  
  
“Yeah, and you eat a baker’s dozen of those sweet rolls before lunch.”   
  
“Shut up.” Robb coughed, his breath a white cloud. They were quiet for a moment, the only sound the frigid rushing of the river nearby. “Theon, don’t take this the wrong way but...why’re you doing this? Marrying Mya, I mean.”  
  
Theon looked at him, eyes dark in the moonlight, and Robb saw a shadow of the panic he knew to be lurking under the surface. “You know why. It’s the right thing to do. And... I do love her, Stark.”  
  
“I know you do, buddy, but this just doesn’t seem like you. The Theon I know would be halfway to Las Vegas right now with a new name. What gives?”  
  
Heaving a sigh, Theon rubbed his arms. “I may as well come clean - when Mya told me about the baby, my first reaction was that she get rid of it.”  
  
“See, that’s the Theon I know and love.”  
  
“Oh, blow me. Anyway, I thought Asha would know a guy who’d do it and keep quiet about it, and she does, but she sat me down and more or less told me to grow up.” Theon shrugged. “She’s not wrong, I suppose. And she said the guy...not all the women make it. How could I know that and send Mya to him anyway? I know I’m an asshole but I couldn’t...not her. And yeah, we could give it up but this kid’s a Greyjoy. It’s my blood. I can’t just farm it out to someone else to take care of, and anyway, Mya wants it.”  
  
“Did she tell you that?”  
  
“Please.” Theon rolled his eyes. “She didn’t have to.” He drew his pack of Luckies out and struck a match on his thumbnail, inhaling deeply. “Asha’s right though. It’s time I grew up.”  
  
Robb was silent. Asha Greyjoy was a thorn in his side. All the Greyjoys were, truth be told, but he couldn’t fault Theon for turning to his sister instead of his foster brother when he needed advice. And it wasn’t as though Asha had given him bad advice. It was the same that Robb would’ve given Theon, if he were to be honest with himself. Admitting that she was right left a bitter, acrid taste in the back of Robb’s throat and judging by the smirk on Theon’s lips, it showed on his face. “Don’t grow up too much.” He snagged the cigarette out of Theon’s mouth and took a long pull on it. “I need someone to make me look good around here.”  
  
Theon snorted and stood, brushing powdery snow off his pants. “You’re gonna look real good, you stay out here much longer. Honest to God, Robb, if your ma saw you running around in the snow with no shoes on she’d go up one side of you and down the other.”  
  
He wasn’t wrong, and Robb was acutely aware of the snow soaking through his own pants and socks, but he just lay back and laughed. “Sounding like a father already, Greyjoy.”  
  
“Fuck you.”


	3. The Dinner Party

 

“Stone.”  
  
Mya glanced up from her work, unconsciously tucking her left hand in her lap. It had been less than a week since Theon had placed her ring there, and she while she wasn’t used to its bulk yet, her hand also felt strangely naked without it. She just wasn’t ready to answer questions about her wedding yet. “Tyrell.”  
  
Loras Tyrell stood over her, his cherubic face pursed as it usually was whenever he had to speak to her. “My sister wants you. Her office. Pronto.”  
  
“What fo-” But Loras was gone with an airy toss of his golden-brown curls. Mya took a deep breath, trying to swallow the irritation that Loras always stoked in her. She didn’t know why; they’d never been anything but cooly civil to the other. _Ah well, you can’t like everyone._ Setting aside the thick, aged volume of city records, she pulled her cardigan off the back of her chair and tugged it on, trotting after Loras. He strode into Margaery’s office and flung himself down on her velvet chaise after pecking his sister on the cheek. Mya’s stomach clenched when she saw Renly was in there as well, a somber expression on his face and his arms were crossed over his chest.  
  
“Have a seat,” Margaery nodded to the plush armchairs before her desk, leaning forward and resting her arms on her gleaming mahogany desk. Her office seemed a world away from the newsroom, all soft blush-colored velvets, silk wallpaper, and gold lamps, the Tyrell rose emblazoned on the carpet. “This is a conversation we’ve been meaning to have with you for a few weeks now, but with everything happening with the fall out from your friend Stark shooting Vargo Hoat, this fell by the wayside.”  
  
Mya felt inexplicably cold, trying to think back on what she’d done that could’ve caused the stern look on her supervisors’ faces. “I-it was a busy couple of weeks, yes.” Her gaze flicked from one to the next, looking for some hint, some clue.  
  
“Mya, do you know a young man by the name of Gendry Waters?”  
  
 _Gendry. He said he’d called the paper but..._ She made herself nod. “I do, yes.”  
  
Renly’s expression was unreadable now. “Did you give him some cock and bull story about an article on local athletes?”  
  
“Yes, but I can explain.” Mya heard the desperation in her voice and trailed off as Renly held up a hand. On the chaise, Loras smirked and Mya wondered what exactly he was doing there to begin with. _He’s one of the executives, I suppose._  
  
“We hold our reporters to a very high standard here, and we take any reports of fraudulent behavior or motives very seriously. The journalism industry is like a pack of sharks - the slightest drop of blood from one, and the rest will tear you apart before you can even blink.”  
  
Mya kept her hands clenched tight in her lap, focusing on the sting of the diamond on her left hand biting into her palm to keep from bursting out into tears. She nodded numbly, already trying to imagine how mad Theon was going to be when he found out she lost her job. Renly fell silent, and Mya raised her eyes. “Just please, let me explain?”  
  
Renly and Margaery exchanged a glance while Loras yawned, and Renly nodded. Mya took a breath, twisting her fingers and trying to figure out where to start. “I...Gendry’s my half-brother.” _Oh that’s great, Stone, start at the end. May as well do this through interpretive dance while you’re at it._ She shook her head but continued on. “The only way I could think of to get to know him was to...well, give him a cock and bull story about an article on local athletes.” She mumbled. “I know it was stupid and a risk to the paper, and I’m so sorry. I just didn’t know any other way.”  
  
“Why not try ‘Hi, my name’s Mya and I’m your sister?’” Loras sounded bored with the whole thing, and she shot him a glare.  
  
“It’s more complicated than that.” There was an edge to her voice now. _This is going to get muddy. Very, very muddy, but you may as well come out with the whole lot._ “My father...our father, I suppose, had a long line of illegitimate children. None of us knew about each other, and Gendry and I didn’t even know who our father was until a few months ago.”  
  
“Let me guess, you ran into him on the street.” Mya’s glare was sharper this time, and she resisted the urge to throttle Loras.  
  
“No. A few years ago, he asked a private investigator to gather all our names up. I’m n-not sure how he did it, but the list sat in Ned Stark’s safe until he died.” Mya blinked furiously, irritated that her eyes would pick now, of all times, to start to well up. She looked up at Renly, who had grown very still.  
  
“So how did you get this list?” It was Margaery who spoke now. She didn’t sound irritated or mad anymore, merely curious. “Robb Stark?”  
  
Mya shook her head. “Theon. He’s Robb’s partner.”  
  
Margaery nodded and glanced up at Renly for a moment before looking back at Mya. “Who is your father, Mya?”  
  
“Robert Baratheon.” Mya’s voice was barely audible even to her. Renly exhaled, but said nothing. He was looking at Mya as if he’d never seen her before. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Don’t be,” he said in a tone only marginally louder than hers. “My brother was a grade-A whore who’d jump on anything with a hole in it. ‘s not your fault.” Renly blinked as Margaery cleared her throat. “And...I’m sure your mother is a lovely woman.” When Mya didn’t respond, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “Alright. This changes things, obviously. Have you been in contact with Gendry?”  
  
Mya nodded. “He was surprised, obviously, and had his doubts. Which is why he called the paper. But we’ve been talking, and...” she shrugged. “We’re getting to know each other.”  
  
“What my darling brother-in-law is asking,” Loras broke in, “is is your darling half-brother going to raise any Hell for your little bonehead party?”  
  
“Loras, please.” Margaery glare, and Loras smiled sweetly. “I wish you would’ve come to me with this, Mya. It could’ve saved us a lot of headache.”  
  
“I know, but I couldn’t. I wouldn’t have, if Gendry had just let me explain before getting his knickers in a twist.”   
  
“You’re my niece.” Renly sounded slightly dreamy. “And this Gendry is my nephew, and how many others, did you say?”  
  
“Almost twenty.”  
  
“ _Twenty. Jesus._ Alright. Tell you what, as long as this doesn’t hit the presses, we’ll just sit on it for now. _Twenty._ ” Renly seemed at a loss now, pacing and picking at a hangnail. “I suppose we can’t really just sit on it. I can’t ask you to stop trying to find your family, can I?”  
  
“Not ethically.” Margaery kept her eyes on him for a moment. “Mya, if you swear to us here and now that you won’t do this again, bring the paper’s name into this, we’ll brush this under the rug, alright?”  
  
Mya nodded, willing to agree to just about anything at this point. “So I won’t lose my job?”  
  
“Not this time. But don’t think we’ll forget this, understand?” Margaery’s expression was still stern.  
  
“And don’t think that just because you’re genetically related to Renly that you’ll be able to ride his coattails.” Loras stood and stretched, looking annoyed. “Are we done here, Margie? I’ve got a lunch with Grandmother at the Derby.” Margaery waved him off, and he doffed an imaginary hat at Mya. “Looking forward to whatever other drama you can cook up.”  
  
Renly shot him a look as he left, letting the door shut after him. The office was silent for a moment before he cleared his throat. “I’d like to get a look at that list, if you still have it, Mya.”  
  
 _So would Cersei Lannister. Only she’d want it to make sure she wiped all of us off the map._ Mya fidgeted and Renly  seemed to read her apprehension. He leaned against the front of the desk. “I’m not going to make excuses for your father. But...God, there’s so many of you poor bastards.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. You know what kind of woman Bob married though. You and your half-siblings are going to need all the help you can get if she gets a bug up her ass. I’ll...ugh. I’ll talk to Stannis and see what we can do.” Stooping, he dropped a peck on the top of Margaery’s head. “I’ve got to run to a meeting but I’ll be in touch.” He paused with his hand on the door, looking back at Mya. “If it’s not too much to ask, don’t let this conversation leave this office. If the time comes when the names should be made public, Stannis and I will handle it.”  
  
Mya nodded. “But Loras, he won’t...he won’t say anything, will he?”  
  
Renly smiled fondly. “Don’t you worry about Loras. I’ll handle him, too.” Winking at Margaery and Mya, he slipped out of the office.  
  
The two women stared at each other for a minute before they both burst out laughing. While Margaery’s was purely amused, Mya’s felt a little manic and hysterical. She forced herself to stop, to breathe, to remember that this wasn’t the place for her to lose control. Wiping a finger under her eyes, she cleared her throat. “Is there anything else, then?”  
  
Still hiccuping a little with laughter, Margaery tucked a rich brown lock of hair behind her ear. “Back before Gendry called, Renly and Loras and I were debating giving you an assignment. And now that this Gendry thing isn’t quite the threat we thought it was, I see no reason why we shouldn’t proceed with it.  
  
“Go on,” Mya’s self interest was percolating and she was suddenly flooded with a sense of relief. She wasn’t going to lose her job, she’d been able to tell Renly about her paternity without and real fallout, and it looked like she was going to get a promotion? _Everything’s coming up Mya, apparently._  
  
“First off, you ever read the police blotter?”  
  
Mya shrugged. “Sometimes. I usually get better stories from my fella and his friend.”  
  
“Ahh right, the unsinkable Mr. Greyjoy.” Margaery smiled set her pen down, and Mya folded her hands in her lap, making sure the ring on her left hand was covered. It felt ostentatious wobbling around on her finger. “Anyway, the man we’ve got on the blotter now’s about to retire - he’s a relic from when my dad first opened this paper. Ten years older than Moses. My point, Mya, is we...that is, Renly and I, thought it’d be a good idea if you took over his beat.”  
  
“R-really?” Mya tried not to squeak. “But my schedule-”  
  
“Your schedule’s fine. We only print the blotter three times a week, unless the citizens are rioting which they haven’t done in what, ten years? Fifteen?” Margaery shook her curls out of her face in a move that mimicked her brother’s. “And you don’t have to do it just when you’re in the office - if you have time between classes, you can pop on down to the main stationhouse and get the goods. That sound ok?”  
  
Mya nodded vigorously, feeling her stomach flip in a mix of anxiety and excitement. She’d only been at the _Lantern_ for a few months, and hadn’t been expecting an honest-to-God regular assignment so quickly. “It sounds fantastic - but are you sure it shouldn’t go to someone else? Someone more senior?”  
  
Margaery laughed and examined the flawlessly lacquered nails of her left hand. The enormous diamond wrapped around her ring finger winked in the pale January sunlight as she spun it idly. “You’ve shown a lot of chutzpah since you started. Loras says too much, thinks you’re a bit too big for your breeches, as it were. But Loras is...” Margaery sighed, thinking. “He’s a very opinionated individual, as I’m sure you’ve found out. He’s always been. But anyway, he’s just one opinion, and Renly and I are two.” Mya wasn’t sure how to respond to that, and fortunately Margaery went on. “But enough about that. I want you to come over to Renly’s and my place tomorrow night for a little dinner get-together. It’s something we do every couple months - just a few of us. My brothers and sister-in-law, Renly’s brother and his family, a few others.”  
  
“Oh, that sounds...” Mya twisted her fingers together. “Well, to be honest, it sounds more like a family gathering and I’d hate to intrude...”  
  
Margaery smiled, a calculating look on her. She crossed her office easily to shut the door and perched on the edge of her desk, long legs crossed. “Now, Mya, I’m going to be completely honest with you here, woman to woman, alright?”  
  
“A-alright.”  
  
“I like you. You’ve got a lot of spunk, maybe to a fault, but you remind me a lot of myself when I was your age. I think you could do well in this industry, but I don’t have to tell you it’s harder for a reporter with nothing swingin’ in the breeze between your knees, if you know what I mean?”  
  
Mya felt her cheeks blaze. “Oh, I...I do.”  
  
“And I’m not about to bore you by telling you what you already know about my family name around here, or how well-connected we are. So you get in good with the rest of my family and Renly’s, and...” She shrugged, an elegantly simple motion. “You can do the math.  
  
She could. Margaery was offering her quite the leg up, and she’d be stupid not to take it. “Sure. What time?”  
  
Margaery smiled again. “Seven. And bring your Detective. I’ve been quite anxious to meet him. Hope he likes coq au vin.”  
  
\------------------  
  
“Coq au vin, huh?” Theon slipped the gearshift into park the next night, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. “Y’know, they have the roast chicken on special at Carla’s tonight. Practically the same thing.”  
  
Mya shot him a look and fiddled with her wrap.. “Hush. We’re not going to Carla’s, and you better behave yourself tonight, mister. There are a lot of important people here tonight, and this could really make or break my career.”  
  
Theon chuckled, pulling her out of the car and shutting the door firmly. “Don’t get your bloomers in a twist, dove, I’ll color inside the lines.” He rested his hand along her back as the two of them gazed up at the towering, elaborate building in front of them, and Theon whistled through his teeth. “Pretty fancy digs.”  
  
“Yup.” Mya felt her stomach quail and lurch a bit. The Highgarden was one of the most well-known and expensive apartment buildings in the tri-state area. Mya had seen it, of course, from the outside nearly every day, but had never ventured inside until tonight. She looked at the feeble bottle of sparkling cider she held, and looked up at Theon nervously. “I should’ve made a pie. Are you sure I look alright?”  
  
Theon guided her through the revolving glass door into the lobby, his voice dropping as if they’d entered a church. “You look like a million bucks, doll. And I told you, I could’ve secured a bottle of Dom Pérignon from 1921, first batch...”  
  
“Absolutely not!” Mya hissed, her eyes locked upwards. Even the lobby was dripping in glamor, with gilded crystal chandeliers and the most elaborate, sweet-smelling floral arrangements Mya’d ever seen. She jerked to a stop on the marble floor, tugging on Theon’s sleeve. “I’m not about to bring a bottle of champagne to a dinner party with Stannis Baratheon! He’d put me away for the rest of my natural life!”  
  
Theon was vastly amused, she could see, and it annoyed her as they stepped into the elevator, giving their names to the operator. He scrolled his finger down a list mutely, giving a terse nod and ushering them inside. “Aw, you mean you don’t think he’d believe it was gifted to you by some well-meaning but ignorant French duke?” His grin sharpened at her glare, and he pecked her on the forehead. “Smile, dove, and relax. Wouldn’t you rather I get all my cheekiness out now than in the middle of the...what was it, the coq au vin?”  
  
 _He’s got a point..._ Mya admitted to herself, and nodded grudgingly. He let out a small, satisfied noise and rested his hand along the back of her neck, thumb brushing gently through her hair. The elevator rose the rest of the way in silence, a small bell pinging softly as they reached the top penthouse. The elevator opened directly into the Tyrell/Baratheon penthouse, Mya realized, and it took her breath away. A long marble hallway led to an ornate picture window at the far end and beyond it, Kingsport glittered in the wet night. The chandelier was dripping with crystals and gold, throwing off little prisms on the framed paintings lining the walls. The very air seemed to glitter and shine. Conversation drifted out of a room to the left, and the tinkling sound of a piano followed. Mya inhaled and felt her mouth water at the same time her stomach gave a worrisome lurch. The dinner smelled fantastic, but she had the gut feeling it would all taste like so much sawdust in her mouth from her nerves. She glanced up at Theon, who seemed equally impressed, but before she could open her mouth there was a soft cough from the corner. They both turned and found themselves being stared down, for the really was no other word for it, by a short, rather stout man with a nose a mile long. His tuxedo marked him as one of the household help, and sure enough, he approached them on silent feet.  
  
“Your wrap, Miss?” Mya shrugged it off and handed it over, trying for a winning smile.  
  
“We’re here for dinner.”  
  
“Obviously.” The man drew out the word, making it drip with disdain. He folded Theon’s coat over his arm and waited, eyes flickering to the bottle she was holding. Mya heard Theon’s nearly inaudible chuckle beside her and straightened, offering him the bottle of cider.  
  
“Very well.” She tried to make her tone match his and knew she’d failed when Theon just barely managed to cover his laughing with a cough. “Show us in, and then take this if you would.”   
  
“You’re nearly the last ones here. I hope you know everyone has been waiting for you.” The butler sniffed as he led them into the dining room which was no less opulent than the foyer. A long walnut table dominated the room with enormous sprays of flowers placed every few feet, and gold-rimmed china settings. The lights were lower in here, glinting off the cut-crystal glasses, and it took a moment for Mya’s eyes to adjust. “A Miss Stone, and Mr. Greyjoy,” The butler announced, and with another  dubious look, melted away.  
  
“Mya!” Margaery separated herself from the small group she was talking with and strode over to them, smiling widely. She grasped Mya’s hands and kissed her cheeks in a cloud of heavily scented cigarette smoke and light, flowery perfume. “So glad you could make it! And this is your young man?”  
  
Mya nodded as Theon shook Margaery’s hand, relieved to see his most charming smile.  
  
“Ah, we’ve heard so much about you. Nice to finally meet you.” Margaery gestured to the rest of the party. “Come along, let me introduce you. I’m sure you already know Stannis Baratheon and his wife, Selyse.” Stannis and Theon barely nodded at each other, Mya noticed. The two men notoriously did not get along and had very nearly come to blows during Roose Bolton’s trial, despite the fact that they were technically on the same side. Stannis’s wife looked just as grim, hair pulled back severely. Mya tried hard not to gape at the woman’s moustache fuzz or oddly protuberant ears, instead nodding politely. “And of course, you know my husband and Loras...Garlan, come over here!”  
  
Mya blinked as a figure strode across the room, smiling broadly. The man standing before her was...well, _dashing_ was the only word that came to mind. He was clearly a relative of Margaery’s and Loras’s; he had the same intelligent smile and sparkling brown eyes. His brown hair was slicked back, but still belied a slight curl around the nape of his neck, and his hand was warm when Mya shook it. Margaery glanced at her, grinning. “This is my older brother Garlan. He’s actually going to be coming on board at the _Lantern_ as our lead crime reporter so, Mya,  you’ll be working closely with him.  Garlan, where’s Leonette?”  
  
“She couldn’t make it. She and Willas stayed home with Mother.” Garlan glanced at Margaery as he shook Theon’s hand.   
  
“Is that your sister?” Mya heard a slight breathiness in her voice and pretended not to see the faint furrow between Theon’s brows. _Jaime Lannister can eat his heart out. If the Lantern ever does another piece on eligible bachelors I’ve found number one right here._  
  
“Leonette? Heavens no,” Garlan laughed easily, sipping from a champagne flute. “She’s my wife. Willas is our other brother,” he turned back to Mya and Theon. “and he spends most of his time with our pa-...with our mother.” Garlan cleared his throat, and Margaery’s smile fled for a moment. “Hey, Margie, that reminds me, can I use your phone? I meant to call Mom when I got here so she doesn’t worry.”  
  
Margaery nodded, and with another brief smile, Garlan headed for the hallway. Theon touched Mya’s elbow, his voice quiet in his ear. “You got a little drool on your chin there, dove.”  
  
Mya glanced up at him, a retort on her lips until she saw his crooked grin. She twisted the delicate ring on her finger, still not used to its small bulk, and pecked his lips when she was sure no one else was looking. “What’s wrong, jealous?”  
  
“Hardly.” But his hand tightened on her waist as she accepted a canape from a black-clad servant. “I just don’t want him getting any ideas, yeah?”  
  
“Please. If anyone’s getting ideas, it’s you.” Mya poked Theon’s belly. He went to return the gesture, but stopped, brows furrowing further.  
  
“Will...will it hurt the kid? I don’t want it to come out dented.”  
  
“Theon!” Mya hissed, glancing around. “Don’t you _dare_ bring the baby up tonight! I haven’t told anyone and we’re not married yet!”  
  
“Oh, relax, Mya.” Theon rested a hand at the nape of her neck, thumb moving along her hair. “No one heard, and no one’ll know I knocked you up until you get all swollen and fat like every other woman out there.”   
  
Before Mya could bite back the piano struck a particularly discordant clump of notes, and she glanced around for the source. There, in the corner of the room, was a sleek, gleaming grand piano.Sitting at it was none other than Renly Baratheon, and a small girl Mya didn’t recognize. S _he has to be Stannis’s, though, and Selyse’s with those ears._ The unlikely duo were carefully picking out a tune on the piano, with Renly occasionally adjusting the girl’s hands on the keys. He said something too quiet for Mya to hear, but it made the girl turn her head and giggle. She bit back a gasp. The entire left side of the girl’s face was covered in a deep purple-red birthmark, a portwine stain. Mya had gone to school with a boy with a similar mark, only it had spread over his neck and back, and the taunting he’d gotten had been heart-wrenching.   
  
Renly smiled affectionately at the girl before glancing up. He nodded at Mya, still smiling, and rose from the piano bench. “Go on, sweetheart, go take your seat. We’ll eat just as soon as our last guest arrives.” The girl nodded dutifully and took a seat at the long table, twisting around in her chair.   
  
“Mother?”  
  
“Just a moment, Shireen.” Selyse turned a cold eye to her daughter and returned to her conversation with Stannis. Mya felt a small twinge of pity for the girl as the slightly hopeful look fell from her face, and she nodded a bit dejectedly.  
  
“Mya, good to see you outside the office for once!” Renly smiled, shaking her hand and Theon’s. “And Detective, of course. Can I get you anything to drink? We’ve got a lovely selection of sparkling ciders and seltzer-based drinks.” He glanced at his older brother, his grin widening a bit as he lowered his voice. “I thought about sneaking a bit of vodka into his water, but Margie told me he’d notice. Don’t you two think it’d be a gas, though, my straight-laced older brother blitzed as can be? You know he doesn’t have a tolerance for the stuff.”  
  
Mya giggled, and Theon grinned rakishly. “I’m gonna do you a favor, Renly, and pretend I didn’t just hear you admit to conspiring to lace your brother’s drink. Class B misdemeanor, that is.”  
  
Renly laughed out loud at that, and Mya felt some of her apprehension vanish. Theon was behaving himself marvelously, and no one had seemed to notice the, to her, blatant thickening at her waist. “Can I get you two something a little harder than that cider, though? Assuming, of course, you won’t give me a set of steel bracelets, Detective?”  
  
Theon pretended to hem and haw, his hand resting at the small of Mya’s back. “I could overlook it this time, provided you get your staff to write a few glowing reviews of the KPD, that is.”  
  
Renly’s keen blue eyes flicked over to Mya. “I’m sure we could find someone to do that. So two vodka gimlets sound good?”  
  
“Just one, actually, I’m fine with this.” Mya held up her flute of cider.   
  
Renly nodded, but before he could get Theon’s drink the butler reappeared, looking slightly more beleaguered. “A Mrs. Olenna Tyrell, if you please.”  
  
Renly took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose and plastering a wide, PR smile across his face. “Here we go, then.” He muttered to them both. “We’ll all three of us be needing a belt or two by the end of this now.”  
  
For all the butler’s eye-rolling and Renly’s apprehension, Olenna Tyrell looked...well, adorable. Standing at hardly five feet, she had a neatly wound braid of snow-white hair and sharp, glinting eyes. She surveyed the room, pulling off a set of gloves that could only have been calfskin and turning her multitude of rings so they all caught the soft candlelight. Her gaze fell on Mya, scanning her and Theon up and down, and she had the sudden, horrible feeling she’d gotten when she got sent to the principal’s office in grade school.  
  
“Well?” Olenna whacked her gloves against the palm of her hand. “I know most of you, but there are a few new faces. Aren’t you going to introduce yourselves?  
  
A small movement caught Mya’s eye, and Stannis’s daughter slid out of her seat at the table, stepping forward and executing what looked like a curtsy. Selyse and Stannis’s nearly identical pained expressions didn’t escape anyone’s notice, Mya realized. _What are they embarassed of? She’s a perfectly delightful little girl._ “I’m Shireen Baratheon, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She recited in a soft, high voice. When she straightened, she was nearly as tall as Olenna, and the two made an odd pair.  
  
Olenna appraised the girl though, tipping her head up in a rather regal manner before extending a tiny, bird-like hand to shake Shireen’s. “The pleasure, my dear, is all mine.” Her eyes flicked over to Stannis and Selyse, and she gave a tiny sniff. “I’d say you certainly got the looks in  your family, but given the stock...well. That’s a lovely dress, at the least.” A tiny wisp of a smile nearly crossed her thin lips, one that quickly faded as she took in the rest of the company. Her gaze once again lit on Mya and Theon. “I don’t know you two. Have you been struck dumb, or are you going to let a child’s manners eclipse your own?”  
  
Renly gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh, and Theon gave Mya a tiny shove forward. _Oh you son of a..._ “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tyrell. I’m Mya Stone, a colleague of-”  
  
“Don’t try to over inflate yourself, girl, you’re a worker bee in my grandchildren’s little hive, aren’t you?” Olenna jerked her head sharply at Loras and Margaery.   
  
“I...yes, I am. Part-time, anyway. I’m still in school.” Mya had a hard time looking the woman in the eye, for some reason.  
  
Olenna nodded, striding across the marble floors and taking a seat at the head of it. Renly made a motion as if to remind her that was _his_ seat, but a sharp look from Margaery shut him up. Not knowing what else to do, the rest of the room filtered to their seats. When Theon pulled out a chair for Mya halfway down the table, Olenna shook her head.   
  
“No, boy, I want her up by me. I’m not done talking to her yet.”  
  
Mya shot Theon a careful glance and saw the way his jaw was working. She couldn’t tell if it was from mirth or anger, though, and was in no position to ask. Obediently, though, she took a seat closer to Olenna, smiling  at him as he sat next to her. She placed a hand on his thigh, and he covered it with one of his own. Quiet conversations started along the table, but Olenna’s attention was solely on Mya. It was a disconcerting feeling. She wondered briefly if this was how Theon and Robb dealt with suspects in those interrogation rooms at the stationhouse. _You’re one bright light away from confessing crimes you didn’t even know existed._  
  
“Now, then, you said your name was Stone? You’re not from around here, are you.”  
  
“No, ma’am.” Mya took a sip of water. “I grew up in Eyrie.”  
  
“Eyrie.” Olenna sniffed again, unfolding her napkin and tucking it over her lap. “Rocky little one-horse town, isn’t it. What do your parents do?”  
  
“My mother works at Arryn Steel, in the Aviation sector.” Mya hoped that would suffice, murmuring a quiet thank-you to the servant who set a bowl of spicy-smelling soup in front of her.  
  
“And your father?”   
  
“He died. Several months ago.” _It’s the truth, really. She doesn’t have to know any more than that._  
  
“Ah.” Olenna took a few spoonfuls of soup. “Who on Earth thought it was a good idea to make a spicy asparagus soup? I’ll be up all night now.” She shook her snowy head, and resumed her inquisition. “Did he work before he passed?”  
  
“Uh.” Mya’s mind went blank. “He- um-”  
  
“He was a local politician.” Theon broke in smoothly, giving Mya’s hand a reassuring squeeze. She gave him a grateful look. “But I’m sure he was no one you’d know. Small potatoes and such.”  
  
“Must be very small. I know all of the politicians around here, and none of them are named Stone.”  
  
“There’s the kicker. Ma’am,” Theon added when Mya jabbed his foot with her heel. “Eyrie’s not local, is it.”  
  
“Oh, you’re not giving Grandmama geography lessons, are you Greyjoy?” Loras interrupted across the table. “She’s good at a great many things, but everyone has a weakness, and that’s hers.”  
  
Olenna fixed her grandson with such a blade-sharp glare that Mya half-expected Loras to start bleeding from it. “Speaking of weaknesses, grandson, how are things going with that pretty little blond girl you were supposed to be seeing?” Before Loras could sputter out an answer, Olenna had turned away from him and back to Theon. “A Greyjoy, are you?”  
  
“In the flesh. Ma’am.” Theon said tightly, although Mya couldn’t tell if his tone was in response to the disdain in Olenna’s voice or Mya grinding her heel into his foot again.  
  
“And you’re here with her?” Olenna nodded at Mya, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “You seem like a smart girl, but you are from a bit of a backwater little town. I suppose you were blinded by all these city lights when you agreed to step out with a Greyjoy. Now, when you get tired of the novelty of seeing someone like him, you ask Margaery about her older brother Willas. Smart boy. Good conversationalist. A bit obsessed with his falconing and dog-breeding, and Heaven knows he should get out more, but better that than slumming with a common thug, I would say.”  
  
“Grandmama!” Margarey’s nervous, tinkling laugh rang out from the opposite end of the table, and Mya realized everyone else had fallen silent, and were staring at them. She also realized Theon was clenching both his jaw and her hand hard enough to snap bone, and she tried to pat his leg to calm him down. “ _Detective_ Greyjoy is far from a common thug! He grew up with the Starks, for God’s sake. Now behave yourself or I’m telling Mother.”  
  
“Oh, tell your mother. What’s she going to do, weep at me?” Olenna smiled, and suddenly Mya was afraid. “And Stark. As in young Robb Stark, I’m sure. As in the Robb Stark who has proceeded to make absolutely no progress in finding out what happened to my idiot son who, by the by, is your idiot father. I had heard rumors of a Greyjoy being on the city’s payroll, but I had hoped they were false.”  
  
Margaery’s smile fled, Loras set his fork down, and even Garlan’s handsome face turned somber. Theon unclenched his jaw long enough to speak, and Mya had to take a long, silent breath to keep from running off and vomiting. While she didn’t know the exact location of Mace Tyrell’s whereabouts, she knew enough. She knew that Theon had killed the man with his bare hands, and that he had done it for her.  For half a second she was back in Theon’s living room, soaked to the bone in front of a cold fireplace as he looked at her blankly, confessing to murder. When she glanced at him she knew he was thinking the same. “We, that is, Robb and I, have made that case our top priority right now. We _will_ find out what happened to him, and if need be, I’m sure Stannis here will help to the fullest extent of the law. Won’t you.”  
  
The look Stannis gave Theon rivaled Olenna’s as far as sharpness and coldness, but he nodded once. “Of course.”  
  
A loud silence hung over the table as Mya tried to wiggle her nearly-numb fingers out from Theon’s grasp. Her ring was digging into her hand, and Theon suddenly let it go with a small, terse smile. She patted his thigh in what she hoped was a comforting gesture and reached for her glass of water again. _I don’t know_ how _he’s going to worm his way out of this one in the end._  
  
“Is that an engagement ring?” Shireen piped up from the opposite end of the table, and Mya froze with the glass halfway to her lips. _You’re wearing a carat and a half worth of diamonds. Someone was bound to notice. If this gets the topic off Mace Tyrell though, we’ll get married right here over the asparagus soup if we have to._  
  
“Sure is, doll,” Theon smiled at the girl with surprising ease, given the fact that Mya had been positive he was about to have a stroke not sixty seconds before. “Put it there myself.”  
  
Margaery clapped excitedly as the men offered their congratulations. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice that before! I have a friend in one of the _best_ bridal shops in town. I’ll ring her up and see if we can get you an appointment there, how’s that sound? And I know just the florist, and you _have_ to try the bakery where Renly and I had our cakes made. That’s an order, Stone. Their champagne-flavored buttercream is to _die_ for.”  
  
Mya felt her cheeks flush, and managed a shy smile. “Oh, I’m sure-”  
  
“You’re _marrying_ into the Greyjoys now, are you.” Olenna sounded downright amused. “Well, let me see your ring, girl. Odds are it’s stolen anyway.”  
  
With an uneasy glance at Theon, Mya slid the slender platinum ring off her finger, surprised at how naked her hand felt without it. Olenna turned it in the light, carefully examining the three emerald-cut diamonds. “It’s not what _I_ would’ve selected, were I to marry again, but it’ll do. Now, boy, tell me the truth, where did you get it?”  
  
Theon shifted uncomfortably, but to his credit he controlled his ragged temper. “It was my mother’s. And before you ask, no, I don’t know where my father got it. Feel free to ask him, though. I’m sure you’ll meet up in the afterlife soon enough.”  
  
Mya groaned internally, but fortunately the main course was served, and Olenna’s razor-sharp opinion was turned from Theon to the coq au vin, which she declared ‘passable’.   
  
Four hours and five courses later, Mya was exhausted and overly full. With a silent look, she’d begged Theon silently to take her home. He seemed only too glad to acquiesce. Garlan approached Mya as Theon was helping her with her wrap in the foyer, having bid everyone else goodnight. “Stone, I’m looking forward to working with you once I get back on board at the _Lantern_. Everyone there speaks pretty highly of you so far, and I saw your article after the Bolton incident.” Garlan’s eyes flicked to Theon. “I’m sorry, I know it must be a sore spot still. And listen, Detective. Don’t take what my grandmother said to heart. She’s a bit thorny, and she’s an acquired taste. We all know you’re working hard to find my father, and we all appreciate it.”  
  
Mya looked up at Theon, trying to gauge his response and from the looks of it, he was having a hard time coming up with one. Eventually though he nodded, and shook Garlan’s outstretched hand. “We’ll be sure to keep you updated. And if my girl here’s going to be working the crime beat with you, don’t you let her get into any sticky situations, you hear?”  
  
Garlan laughed easily. “Between you and me, she’ll be lucky if she ever leaves her desk. Have a good night, you two, and congratulations on the engagement.”  
  
Mya must’ve dozed off once they got back into the Rolls because before she knew it Theon was jostling her awake. “Come on sleepyhead, we’re home. Never even made the bed this morning, so your lump of blankets is probably just how you left it. Unless you want to spend the night in the car?”  
  
She yawned, burrowing her face against his shoulder. “No, bed please, Detective.”  
  
“What, I gotta carry you now?” But Theon was grinning as he scooped her up. “Alright then, lazybones.”   
  
“I’m not lazy, I’m incubating. There’s a difference.” Mya feebly kicked off her shoes once Theon deposited her on his bed, wiggling straight out of her clothes and under the blankets. She was vaguely aware of Theon curling himself around her, wrapping an arm over her waist. “I thought it went pretty well tonight though.”  
  
Theon snorted. “If you don’t count that lunatic old bat that couldn’t keep her trap shut, anyway.”  
  
“Oh, she wasn’t so bad.”  
  
“She tried to set you up with her grandson while I was sitting right there! And all those damn questions about Tyrell...”  
  
Mya sighed and rolled over to face him, nose-to-nose. “You remember what you told me when I started there?” She pitched her voice lower in an attempt to match his, and maybe to make him laugh. “You said ‘You don’t know _anything_ about that, you hear?’ And then you suggested I was getting fat when I asked to try your gelato.”  
  
“How do you _remember_ these things?” Theon sounded baffled and a bit distracted but yes, there was a hint of laughter there too.  
  
Mya shrugged, working herself further under the thick down comforter covering them. “Useful little trick I picked up. Now, stop thinking about Mace tonight, and Mrs. Tyrell, and just go to sleep, yeah?” Theon muttered unintelligibly, half into the pillow, and Mya kissed him. “I love you too.”


	4. Deadlines

_Your conclusion’s weak but that’s ok. The argument was made by the fourth page..._ Mya tapped her pen against her essay idly, furrowing her brow as she read over her assignment one last time. She had to hand it in to Professor Lannister by five, and even if she only had to face him for thirty seconds Mya was dreading it. She hadn’t been able to look him in the eye after her run-in with Jaime Lannister, and it hadn’t escaped her notice that Alla Tyrell had quietly taken Jaime’s position in the chaos during the death of Vargo Hoat. That, and the also hushed-up break-in of Theon’s home left Mya feeling distinctly uneasy about the whole thing. It wasn’t a topic she could bring up with Theon, either. He was still so irritated by the situation that even the mention of the word ‘Lannister’ would cause a vein in his throat to throb. _And Stannis._ Mya couldn’t even imagine how hard it had been for Theon to keep a lid on his temper at the Tyrell’s dinner party, and she loved him all the more for it.  
  
Turning her attention back to her paper, Mya sighed and flipped the folder shut. She didn’t have time to change anything in the assignment now, anyway. Slipping the folder into her bag, her fingers glanced over a glossy magazine and she pulled it out after glancing around to make sure she was alone. Despite Theon’s warning that their wedding was giving a new definition to both ‘shoestring budget’ and ‘shotgun wedding’, she hadn’t been able to resist the urge to pick up just one bridal magazine at the five-and-dime that morning. _It never hurts to look._   
  
She flipped the magazine open to a page she’d earmarked, showing a bride and groom in a moment of quiet intimacy, both dressed to the nines in the latest fashions. The groom was tipping his bride’s face up, a look of bliss in both their eyes, and the bride had a hand wrapped around her husband’s wrist while the other hung at her side, clutching an elaborate bouquet of orchids and ivy. Mya tilted her head. If she just squinted a tiny bit...there. The grainy illustrated couple’s faces blurred, and Mya let herself imagine it was her in the haute-couture dress and flowing veil, Theon in the perfectly-fitted tuxedo, the two of them lost in a moment of quiet happiness.  
  
Mya sighed and flipped the magazine shut. It was useless to dream about a big, fancy wedding when all she was like to get was a quiet, small ceremony. _All that matters at the end of the day is that you and Theon are married. You don’t need all the frills. At the same time though..._ she flipped the magazine back open. _You could probably get away with a few flowers at least..._  
  
“Good afternoon Miss Stone!” A rich voice behind Mya startled her straight out of her thoughts and she turned in her chair, hastily shoving her magazine in a desk drawer. Garlan Tyrell was behind her, his wool overcoat tossed over an arm and hat in hand. “What d’you think about a little field trip?”  
  
Mya blinked - she wasn’t even aware that Garlan was going to be starting at the paper today. Heart still pounding from the near-miss with the magazine, she tried to arrange her thoughts. Garlan smiled easily down at her, and she felt her stomach lurch a little. “I..uh...where?”  
  
“Down to the precinct. Now that the beat’s ours, well, technically yours, it couldn’t hurt to introduce ourselves. Although it might be more for my benefit than yours - you’ve already got an in there.” Garlan chuckled and extended a hand. “It won’t take long. C’mon, I’ll drive. ‘s far too snowy out there for you to walk.”  
  
Moments later Garlan escorted Mya down the snowy steps to Tyrell Plaza, her hand tucked carefully in his arm. He gestured to a gleaming car parked right out front, and Mya bit back a gasp. “Is that this year’s Packard Holbrook?”  
  
Garland grinned widely, opening the passenger side door and helping her in before crossing to the driver’s side. “That it is, Miss Stone. I didn’t know you were an automobile enthusiast.”  
  
“Jeepers...” Mya ran her hand over the rosewood console. “And I’m not, really. My boyfr-...fiance is though. Saw one of these at Manderly’s last week and I had to pull him away before he slobbered all over the hood of it.” She laughed, relieved when Garlan did the same.   
  
“He’s got fantastic taste, then. She’s a beaut, she is.” Garlan patted the wheel as he accelerated into traffic. “Handles like a dream. What’s he drive, your fella?”  
  
“A Rolls-Royce. Silver Ghost, I think. It’s a few years old, and it’s not technically his. It’s the Starks’, but he drives it more than any of them. They’ve got a Caddy too, but that’s Edmure Tully’s. They’re just keeping it for now - he hasn’t driven since he got back from the War and-” _For God’s sake, Stone, stop._ Mya cleared her throat. “Anyway, Theon loves that Rolls.”   
  
Her cheeks were blazing now, and she couldn’t remember feeling so flustered since she’d seen Douglas Fairbanks in Robin Hood when it had played at Eyrie’s one movie screen several years past.  She glanced at Garlan as he stopped at a red light and bit back a giggle - there was a certain resemblance between him and the actor. They both had the same high cheekbones, and easy charming smile.  
  
“Understandable. It’s a good model.” Garlan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as the light changed. “What all did Margie tell you about this beat?”  
  
Mya shrugged, toying with the fringe on her scarf. “Not much. Just that I’m supposed to get the ‘good stories’ a few times a week.”  
  
“That’s the ticket. The clerk at the front desk will have them all written up - it’ll only take a few minutes to pop in and get it and then you just need to pretty it up and slap it on the press.” Garlan parked the car easily and gave her a smile. “Also, next time, remind me to float you some petty cash and bring a couple dozen donuts. You’ll have the fuzz tripping over itself.” The stairs leading up to the precinct were glazed over with a layer of ice, and Mya smiled to herself as Garlan tucked her hand over his arm. “Careful there.”  
  
A figure was stooped on the steps, scraping the ice up with what looked like a rusty old lawn edger. Glancing up, Lancel Lannister bobbed his blond head in a nearly subservient manner. Despite the sharp cold January air, he looked sweaty and dishevelled. He’s only done two steps. He’s going to die of a coronary before he finishes. “Afternoon, Miss Stone. Feeling better?”  
  
Mya felt her cheeks blaze again and she stammered. “Sure am, thanks!”  
  
“Under the weather?” Garlan asked quietly as he pulled the door open. He ushered her in with a hand high on her back, nodding at some sargeant or another as he passed. Mya felt conspicuous as the made their way down the hallway to the main room. Her last time here she hadn’t paid much attention to the room, but now she could see the old charm to the building. High ceilings faded into the dark, with large windows making up one wall of the room. Two other exposed brick walls were lined with offices and interrogation rooms - one office was Ned Stark’s. His name was still on a placard beside the door, but the door was closed, the office dark beyond it. Pairs of desks filled the rest of the room, pushed up side-by-side or front-to-front, and officers were milling about, filling the room with muted chatter. Much to her disappointment, Theon wasn’t at his desk, nor was Robb, and it was quick work for her and Garlan to introduce themselves and collect a neat folder with the current date on it.  
  
After some idle small-talk with the clerk, a pleasant young woman named Jeyne, Garlan and Mya turned to leave. As they were striding back down the hallway, two familiar figures strode through the main door, and she grinned as Theon and Robb approached.  
  
“Fancy meeting you here, dove.” Theon pecked Mya’s cheek, his hand tight on the small of her back. He nodded at Garlan, extending his other hand. “Good to see you again, Tyrell.”  
  
Mya bit the inside of her cheek. Theon had pitched his voice slightly lower, as if trying to impress someone. _Certainly not Robb and I. We’ve both seen him at his worst._ Garlan grasped his hand briefly, glancing at Robb. “Garlan Tyrell.”  
  
“Robb Stark.” Robb smiled. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  
  
“Likewise.” Garlan glanced at Mya, and she wondered briefly who Garlan had been talking to. In the next breath Theon subtly pulled her a little closer, and she rested her hand just inside his coat. “You took down Vargo Hoat last month, right?”  
  
Robb shifted on his feet and Mya waited for his response. The night after Hoat died, Theon had confessed to Mya that Hoat hadn’t laid a finger on Robb, that his best friend had shot him in cold blood. He’d had no choice but to make it look like Robb had taken a hit. He _had_ to do it, he’d said. Robb had blown their case with a single shot and he would go to prison otherwise.   
  
Now though, Robb just nodded a bit stiffly. “I did. Didn’t have a choice.”  
  
Garlan nodded sympathetically. “No one blames you, that’s for sure. Truth be told, if I find the son of a bitch who did my father I’m doing the same thing right in front of City Hall if I have to.”   
  
Mya’s gaze flew to Theon’s, but he gave no indication he’d even heard Garlan. _Neither should you. You know nothing about it._ She forced a smile on her face and a little bit of laughter, but it sounded fake and shrill in the cool hallway. “Well, hopefully no one’s getting shot in front of City Hall today, right?”   
  
The three men stared at her and her laughter trickled away. _Great, Garlan and Robb’ll think you’re touched in the head and Theon’s going to start gagging you when you go out in public. Great work, Stone. Really top-notch._ Her fingers tightened just the slightest bit over Theon’s stomach. _Help me out here._   
  
To her relief Theon shrugged and adopted a more casual smile. “If they do they better do it after five. I’m not in the mood for any more overtime until at least March.”  
  
Garlan laughed and Mya felt the tension surrounding the four of them dissipate. “We’d better let you gentlemen get back to keeping our city streets safe. Pleasure meeting you, Robb.”  
  
“Likewise.” Robb smiled again and smacked Theon’s arm. “Let’s get a move on Greyjoy, we’re both up to our eyeballs in paperwork.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He kissed Mya. “I’ll pick you up after work, yeah?”  
  
“I’ll be waiting.” Mya smiled as Theon and Robb strode off.  
  
“You two are good together.” Garlan remarked as he and Mya climbed back in the car. “He’s not what I expected though, to be honest.”  
  
“No?”  
  
Garlan shrugged. “Greyjoys have a bit of a reputation, don’t they? Ruthless thugs, murderers, you name it, they’ve done it. But him...not so much. I fully expected him to lay my grandmother out flat the other night.”  
  
Mya tried not to squirm on the bench seat. “He’s a good guy. He’s nothing like the rest of his family, thank God.”  
  
“If he was you probably would’ve run as fast as you could, right?” Garlan glanced at her with that easy, white grin and Mya felt like she was coming apart at the seams, somewhere between  schoolgirl twitterpation and terror that she was about to vomit. _How does Theon_ do _this?_  
  
“Absolutely!” Her mind cast about desperately for another topic, anything else to talk about, and words burst out of her mouth before she could stop them. “Do you really think your father’s dead?” _Son of a-_  
  
Garlan sighed. “He would call my mother if he was going to be so much as five minutes late for dinner. They’ve been married for thirty-three years, and he never spent a night away from her. He would never just up and leave her or the family or the paper. Never.” He looked at her somberly now. “Even though the rest of my family may not want to accept it, my father is dead. All I want to happen now is to find who did it, why, and where he is. I just want to bury my father properly.”  
  
Mya knotted her fingers together nervously. “I-I’m sure they’ll find out who did it.”  
  
“They will.” Garlan responded, resuming his drumming on the steering wheel. “I have every faith in the police department, even if my grandmother does not.”  
  
The remainder of the short drive back to the Lantern was quiet. Once in the lobby, Garlan jabbed at the ‘up’ button, looking around in surprise when the elevator behind them dinged almost immediately.   
  
“There you are.” Loras’s voice rang out in the quiet and Mya bit back a sigh. Loras ignored her entirely though, and thumped Garlan on the shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you for an hour, at least. I need to talk with you about something.” Only now did he glance at Mya, his neatly shaped eyebrows arching a fraction of an inch. “Alone.”  
  
Garland sighed and ran a hand over his gleaming brown hair. “Then talk, I’ve got a lot going on this afternoon.” He jabbed the elevator button again.  
  
Loras tugged him away, lowering his voice so Mya couldn’t hear what he was saying. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him gesturing, his expression intense.  Garlan crossed his arms across his chest, shaking head.  
  
“That’s ridiculous. Absolutely not. Absolutely not.” His voice carried more than Loras’s did, but before Mya could hear more the elevator dinged again and slid open. Not wanting to eavesdrop so blatantly, Mya stepped into it and hit the button for the newsroom floor. _What was that about?_ She shook her head and unbuttoned her coat as she made her way back to her desk. _Probably just some family thing, nothing to worry about._  
  
Dropping the folder with the police blotter information on it, Mya grabbed the sheets and looked at them. _It’s in shorthand. Of course. That’s absolutely perfect._ She sighed and flipped the folder closed again, rubbing her forehead. She’d have to transcribe the report tonight when she was away from the incessant buzzing fluorescent light overhead, and the potent smell of coffee from the next desk over. She thought of the bridal magazine shoved in her desk drawer briefly, but shook her head. _No, you’ve got work to do. Leave that here though. If Theon so much as sees it he’ll hit the roof._  
  
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly and painfully slowly. Just after 3, the newsroom doors swung open and when she glanced up to see who had come in, her stomach sank. Stannis Baratheon’s icy gaze was cruising over the room and Mya fought off the urge to duck under her desk. His eyes settled on her for a split second, and he spoke to a second, smaller figure that had escaped Mya’s notice. _Shireen._ Stannis jerked his head towards Mya, and the scrap of a girl picked her way through the desks, either ignoring or oblivious to the stares her appearance brought. Mya smiled as she stopped shyly in front of her, hands folded neatly. Stannis strode across the newsroom, sparing neither of them a second look as he started up the stairs that led to Renly’s office.  
  
“What can I do for you, Miss Baratheon?” Mya crossed one leg over the other, and the smile that crossed her face was entirely natural.   
  
“My father has to meet with Uncle Renly and he said I should come over by you and not get into any trouble or else I’d feel the back of his hand.” She recited the last bit, her face screwed up as she tried to remember her father’s warning.  
  
Mya blinked. _Do I have a sign on my forehead that reads ‘Free babysitting service’?_ “Ahh, you don’t look like the sort of girl that’d get into any trouble. D’you know what your dad’s meeting your uncle for?”  
  
Shireen shook her head, dark braids swinging. “Just said it was family things and that I shouldn’t ask questions about things that don’t concern me.” She bit her lip, leaning against Mya’s desk. “But if it’s family, I’m family, right?”  
  
“That you are.” Mya responded solemnly, only imagining what sort of family business would bring Stannis down to the _Lantern_. “I bet you it’s boring grown-up things though. Say, do you want a piece of bubble gum?” Mya had a pack of it in her desk, having given into a craving for something sweet.  
  
Shireen’s blue eyes lit up, but only for a second, and she shook her head. “Mother says chewing gum makes you look like a cow and it ruins your teeth so I’m not to have any.” She bit her lip and scratched at her blood-red cheek. “Unless it’s my birthday. And that’s not until next month.”  
  
“That’s when mine is too!” Mya leaned forward conspiratorially. “Tell you what - if you can convince your mom or dad to bring you down here then, I’ll give you a piece. How’s that sound?”  
  
“Oh, I couldn’t! Father only picked me up from school today because my nanny had to go down south for a funeral and Mother didn’t want to miss her rotary meeting, and after that she’s got a benefit for the veteran’s hospital. I could never get them to bring me here again. Or anywhere, really.” For a moment Shireen looked so forlorn and small in her slightly too-small winter coat that it was all Mya could to do keep from enveloping the girl, her cousin, up in an enormous hug. Shireen rubbed at her cheek again, looking up at Mya from under a fringe of dark, fine lashes. “Are you still getting married?”  
  
“You bet I am.”  
  
“D’you have a dress yet?” The girl smiled shyly.  
  
“Not yet, no, but I’m going to start looking soon.” It wasn’t entirely a lie. There were bound to be a few appropriate dresses at one of the department stores in Kingsport. Theon had argued that she already had plenty of nice dresses, and couldn’t she just wear one of those? He’d at least had the good sense to shut up at the look Mya had given him. _And soon...that’s a laugh. If you don’t have something by Thursday you’re up the creek, lady._  
  
“I always wanted a big poofy dress, like the princesses always have.”  Shireen’s voice had dropped to a near-whisper. “And a crown, and a veil that goes on forever. And gobs of flowers.”  
  
Mya smiled as Shireen described the wedding she herself had dreamt of when she was a girl. “I’m sure you’ll get exactly the wedding you want someday.” _God knows Stannis can afford it._  
  
Shireen shook her head again and toyed with the end of one of her braids. “I won’t. Mother and Father both said that I’d never have any prospects for a good husband. Because of my face, y’see.”  
  
“They said that to you?” Mya was horrified. Yes, Shireen’s port wine stain was a glaring imperfection, but for the girl’s parents to say something like that? It was unthinkable, and cruel.  
  
“Not to me, no.” Shireen shifted. “But I overheard them. It was a few years ago. I shouldn’t have been listening in though.”  
  
Before Mya could respond, Stannis strode back down the stairs, adjusting his long wool overcoat. He brushed past Mya’s desk without so much as a glance and was across the room in a few long steps.  
  
Shireen buttoned up her coat in a hurry, smiling shyly at Mya. “I’ve got to run or else he’ll leave without me.” Something about her tone suggested such a thing had happened before. “It was nice to see you again.”  
  
“You too.” Mya watched Shireen trot off, her thoughts interrupted by the jarring ring of the phone on her desk. “Mya Stone.”  
  
“Stone, pop on up here for a moment if you could?” Renly’s voice came over the line, slightly staticy.   
  
Renly was reclining in his chair when Mya slipped into his office, hands folded across his stomach. His head was leaning against the back of his chair, eyes closed, and his drawn blinds had shut out much of the weak afternoon light. “Sit.” Mya perched on the edge of one of the wingback chairs before her. “My brother just left.”  
  
“Yes, I saw him.” Mya folded her hands carefully. “Shireen was with him.”  
  
“Was she?” Renly cracked an eye. “Poor thing. Anyway, the other day I told him about you and the boxer fellow and Robert’s other progeny and, Stannis being Stannis, my older brother promptly developed an ulcer and started spewing red tape.”  
  
“I’m sorry?”  
  
Renly waved a hand. “Ah, nothing. Long story short, he wants to have a sit-down with you and Gendry at his estate on Thursday evening, just to...well, I’m not going to pull any punches here. He wants to make sure you’re not about to soil the proud Baratheon name.”  
  
Mya snorted. “We’ll have a hard time doing that - he’s a Waters and I’m a Stone. You can’t even combine them into Baratheon. But I understand. I’ll talk to Gendry tonight and let him know.”  
  
“Good girl.” Renly scrawled down an address and pushed it across the desk. “Seven sharp. Stannis gets a real bug up his ass if you’re late, so make sure you account for traffic.” He looked her over. “I don’t have to tell you to dress nice, you usually look pretty passable. But Gendry...he’s a blue-collar fella, right?”  
  
“He is, but I’ll make sure he washes behind his ears.” Mya smiled. “And I’m sure he’s got some nice clothes.” _He better. He’d bust Theon’s shirts at the seams. Robb’s too._  
  
Renly laughed, leaning back in his chair a bit. “I’m not that worried, really. I’ll probably swing by, just to try and shield you and Gendry from some of Stannis’s sunny personality. You said Shireen was with him? Hmmm...” He tapped a finger on his jaw, thinking. “I’ll bring Edric with me. Those two kids get along fantastic, and God knows the girl could use a little company.” Renly waved a hand. “Go on, get out of here, why don’t ya. It’s close enough to five.”  
  
\--------------  
  
When Mya had called Theon to let him know she’d be done early, he’d told her he was going to be a little late, and why didn’t she meet him down at the Chum Bucket? It was a favorite seafood restaurant of his, a rickety little building tucked along Kingsport’s pier. He had a hankering for their coconut shrimp creole, and claimed they had best in five states.  
  
Mya called Gendry as well, fully expecting to just leave a message at his apartment building. She’d been startled when he’d answered the phone, but had arranged to meet him at the pier as well. She knew Theon wouldn’t mind buying him dinner as well, and she could warn him about their appointment with Stannis. Now she tucked her hand into the crook of Gendry’s arm as they strolled along a bustling pier, taking in all the activity around her.The day’s catch was on display left and right, vendors barking out their prices and the salty smell of the ocean pervading everything. Gendry offered her a hush puppy out of a greasy paper sack, but she shook her head.   
  
“No, I had a late lunch.” she lied. Truth be told, the smell of fish was just as strong as the sea, and it was making her still-tender stomach toss and turn and dread a fish-based dinner. “How come you’re not at work?”  
  
Gendry shrugged and crumpled up the now-empty paper bag, tossing it in a wire garbage can. “The car plant cut about half its crew. Kept a bunch of the old-timers, but younger kids like me got the boot. I sorta figured it was coming, been saving up since November. It’s going to be a mighty chilly winter if I don’t find something else soon, though.”  
  
Mya’s eyes widened. “But the money from Bob, you still have that, right?”  
  
Her brother sighed, adjusting his battered newsboy cap. “It was a lot of heavy sugar, but Ma had a lot of debts when she died. Doctor’s bills and other stuff. I used most of what was in that account to settle those up and I can keep our...my apartment for another month at the most. After that...” Gendry’s broad shoulders slumped. “I’m up the proverbial creek.”  
  
“Oh, Gendry.” Mya breathed. She tugged him to a stop. “We’ll figure something out, yeah? We’ll talk with Stannis and Renly when we see them this weekend and something’ll work out.” It felt unnatural to refer to Renly and Stannis Baratheon as ‘Uncle’, especially given her working relationship with the former, and she’d decided to not use the title at all.  
  
“I hope they don’t mind me driving a beat-up old jalopy to their place.” Gendry fished through his pockets and came up with a toothpick, planting it firmly between his teeth. “I’m taking a buddy of mine’s truck out - he says there’s something wrong with the alignment but he can’t put a point on it, and he said the carburetor’s acting up-” He glanced down at Mya’s baffled expression and chuckled. “Sorry. I get to talking about cars and forget that not everyone knows my lingo.”  
  
Mya waved a hand. “Nothing to get balled up over. Say, can I bum a ride?”  
  
“Sure thing, assuming the old heap doesn’t go belly-up on me. I can swing by your dorm, what, six, six-thirty?”  
  
“No, I’ll be at Riverrun, at Theon’s.” Mya tucked a lock of hair behind her ears, fighting off a blush. It felt so odd to be so forward about her relationship with Theon to Gendry, even if he was her brother. She hadn’t told him about the baby. She hadn’t even told her mother yet, and that was a conversation she was dreading. _Soon. You have to do it soon._ “He’s picking me up tomorrow afternoon and helping me move a few things over to his place before the wedding.”  
  
Gendry shook his head, wryly amused. “You kids and your crazy romance.”  
  
“Kids nothing.” Mya knocked his ribs with her elbow. “We’re both older than you, Babyface.”  
  
Laughing, Gendry knuckled Mya’s head and nodded towards the end of the pier, where the Chum Bucket waited. Mya was amazed such a place could keep standing year after year, given some of the storms that would blow in off the bay and pummel the city. The small restaurant’s walls were corrugated, rusted steel, the daily specials soaped onto the windows, and strings of hurricane lanterns sputtered along the eaves. “Ain’t that your lucky groom?”  
  
“It is.” Mya smiled and waved at Theon, leaning against the restaurant, a cigarette between his fingers. He lifted a hand in greeting, flicking aside the cigarette butt and strolling over. Mya wrapped her arms around his waist, kissing him lightly. “Hi.”  
  
“Hi, you.” Theon grinned down at her before offering his hand to Gendry. “Nice to see you, Gendry.”  
  
Gendry shook his hand firmly. “Mr. Greyjoy. Thanks for letting me tag along tonight.”  
  
Theon waved him off, leading them into the restaurant. “‘s nothing. I just hope you both are  hungry.”  
  
\--------------  
  
The inside of the Chum Bucket was no more scenic than the outside, but Theon waved off Mya’s curious look, pulling out a chair for her. “It’s not pretty but wait till you try their cheddar biscuits. They’re a work of art.”  
  
“I dunno,” Gendry grinned from across the table. “You ever try Salty’s?”  
  
“Please.” Theon snorted. “Salty’s got their name for a reason.” He passed menus to Mya and Gendry, but left his own closed, flagging down a waitress. They ordered, and were given a basket of the much-coveted cheddar biscuits for their trouble.  
  
“You like salty foods, if I recall.” Mya smiled at him pertly. “You loved my mother’s green beans at Thanksgiving, didn’t you. She uses half a block of salt in that, to be sure.”  
  
“‘s that why you were so thirsty that night?” He grinned a bit wickedly, and Mya felt her cheeks blaze.   
  
“Maybe.”  
  
Gendry’s eyes flicked back and forth between them, mildly confused, and accepted Theon’s offer of a cheddar biscuit. “She came stumbling downstairs, quarter past 2 in the morning, and ran smack into the coffee table. Woke me out of a sound sleep with her cussing.”  
  
“I did not!” Mya protested. “And anyway, you nearly shot my head off!”  
  
“Don’t exaggerate, I didn’t nearly shoot your head off.” Theon winked.   
  
“Don’t feel bad, I once punched my mother halfway across the room when she woke me up.” Gendry smiled. “On accident, of course. Speaking of mothers though, yours is coming for your little shindig, inn’t she?”  
  
The mere mention of her mother made Mya feel a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze that whistled through the cracks around the windows. She still had to place a call to her, and soon. _Tonight._  
  
“Of course she is.” The words flopped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Well, why wouldn’t she? You don’t have to tell her everything, not straight away. Even as the thought crossed her mind, she knew it wasn’t true. She’d spill her beans to her mother, for better or for worse.  
  
“So I’m almost looking forward to meeting ol’ Uncle Stanny.” Gendry’s grin matched Mya’s. “Think he’ll mind if we call him that?”  
  
“I think the city’ll be down a DA if we do.” Mya picked at her own plate, a sweet, mild white fish of some sort resting on a bed of mashed potatoes, and crisp green beans. “Did I tell you Renly was coming, too?”  
  
“No.” Gendry replied. He looked suddenly apprehensive, picking at his clam cakes. “Is he as uptight as Stannis seems?”  
  
“Hardly.” Mya responded. “He’s a real swell guy, isn’t he, Theon?”  
  
“There’s a reason he’s in the media. Which reminds me, dove,” Theon’s tone was light, but she saw the slight furrow between his brows. “what were you and that pretty Tyrell boy doing at the stationhouse this afternoon?”  
  
“Just introducing ourselves. Now that I’m doing the blotter, Garlan thought it’d help to get my face out there.” Mya shrugged, then brightened. “Oh! I meant to tell you, he’s got one of those Packards you were eying up last week! Brand new, still smells fresh and everything.”  
  
“Not the Holbrook?” Gendry broke in, envy in his tone. “What I wouldn’t give to get my mits on one’a them!”  
  
“You and me both.” Theon replied, still looking put out. “And it’s ‘ _Garlan_ ’, now, is it?”  
  
“What else am I supposed to call him? He’s my...well, I don’t know what he is. My supervisor? Colleague?” Mya shrugged. “Either way, he’s fabulous, and he thinks very highly of you for not popping his grandmother right in the jaw.”  
  
Theon grumbled. “If she flapped her gums one more time she woulda woken up on the far side of the moon.”  
  
“Don’t be sore.” Mya squeezed his hand under the table, suddenly desperate to steer the conversation away from the Tyrells. She’d been able to keep thoughts of Mace Tyrell’s final night at bay, but ever since the dinner party they’d been pushing themselves to the fore of her mind. It was hard enough working with his children some days, having to walk past an enormous portrait of Mace that hung in the lobby of Tyrell Plaza every day. Mya swore his eyes followed her, and guilt poured down over her. Some days, especially as of late, it was hard for her to not burst into Margaery’s office and tell the woman everything. _You can’t. Not now, not with the baby. For Heaven’s sake, where is your head at? Keep your mouth shut._ “Say, Theon, Gendry’s out of work. You don’t know of anyone who needs a man, do you?”  
  
Theon shrugged. “I’ll ask around. I know Catelyn’s been having a heap of trouble with the Caddy. Don’t know why she doesn’t sell the thing. The transmission’s gummed up something royal, and if she wants, maybe you can get it running proper?”  
  
“I’d be glad to.” Gendry looked relieved. “So where’d you see that Holbrook, anyway, Mr. Greyjoy?”  
  
As Gendry and Theon’s talk turned to cars and Gendry’s latest matches, Mya let their conversation turn to a buzz in her ears. Her thoughts returned to her mother, and the conversation she’d be having in entirely too short a time. Her dinner, delicious as it was, was suddenly sitting too heavy, and tasted like so much sawdust. She had no other choice, though. The idea of Alyce’s reaction if Mya didn’t tell her anything until after the ink had dried was enough to make her knees quake.  
  
\--------------  
  
Setting her purse on the kitchen counter, Mya glanced at the clock over Theon’s stove. It stood at just before nine, and she winced. If she was going to call her mother tonight, it’d have to be now. Curling up on the couch, she held the phone in her lap, fishing in her purse for the exchange her mother had mailed her that week. Modern technology was slow to climb the mountains that Eyrie was situated on, and the small town had only had phone lines run up to it just before the new year. Lifting the receiver to her ear, she read off the exchange.  
  
“Can you give me some time? This is probably a conversation I should have in private.” Mya bit her lip as Theon planted a kiss on her part and patted his pockets for his pack of Luckies. She tossed it to him from the end table as the phone’s connection sniffed northward. As he turned the doorknob to step outside though, panic suddenly flowed through her and she clamped her hand over the receiver. “Theon, wait, stay...please?”  
  
He smirked at her and flung himself down on the couch, lounging with his head in her lap as hundreds of miles away, Mya’s mother picked up. “Hello?”  
  
“Hi, Mama?” Mya twisted the phone cord anxiously around her finger, scowling slightly as Theon blew a smoke ring. “It’s Mya.”  
  
“Well hi baby!” Alyce seemed genuinely surprised to hear from Mya. “You know you’re the first person to ring me up on this contraption? Can you hear me alright? They said I wouldn’t have to yell, but what do they know?”  
  
“I can hear you just fine.” Mya tried to smile, but somehow it fell flat. “Hey, listen-”  
  
“Don’t say ‘hey’ to me, bluebird, it’s rude. Now, what am I listening to?”  
  
“Sorry. Anyway, um, I have some news I wanted to tell you...” Mya was stroking Theon’s hair idly, but didn’t realize her fingers had twisted in it until he pinched her leg, giving her a sharp look. She winced and resumed stroking. “Theon asked me to marry him.” The silence hung so long on the other end of the line Mya thought the operator had disconnected the call. “Mama?”  
  
“What do you mean, he asked you to marry him? As in be his _wife_? Baby, you’ve only been seeing him for what, four months now? Five?”  
  
“I know it’s fast, but...” Mya shrugged, unaware that her mother could not see the gesture. From her lap, Theon raised his eyebrows questioningly. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “I love him, and he loves me, he’s got a good job, I have one for when I’m done with school, and there’s no reason to wait.”  
  
“If he loves you like he says he does, then there’s no reason he won’t wait. Mya,” Alyce’s tone shifted suddenly, and it caught her off guard. “have you considered that he’s only doing this to...well, men have needs. And I know I raised you to know how to behave around a young man.”  
  
“Mama!” Mya’s cheeks were blazing in a mix of mortification and shame. “I know men have needs,” Theon rolled onto his side, muffling his guffaws against the back couch cushions, and Mya swatted at him. “but that’s not why he wants to marry me! Now, it’s already decided. It’s happening a week from Saturday, and-”  
  
“A _week_?! Good grief, baby, so fast? You’d’ve thought you’d come up in trouble with all that rush!” Alyce was chuckling a bit now, but all Mya could do was emit a small, high-pitched squeak. Theon sat up, his brows furrowed now as she pressed her fingers over her lips. Alyce’s laughter trailed off after a minute. “...Mya, baby? Tell me you’re not...”  
  
“He’s doing the right thing, Mama. We’re doing the right thing!” Mya blurted out and immediately kicked herself. This was not how she wanted to tell her mother she was going to be a grandmother, but the words just would not stop now. “We’re doing it early enough no one will know.”  
  
“Mya!” Alyce’s tone was rife with despair now, and Mya imagined her sitting at the rickety kitchen table, her face buried in a hand. “How could he do this to you? You’re just a baby yourself!”  
  
“You were only sixteen when you had me,” Mya reminded her sharply. “You did just fine. And anyway, I won’t be doing this on my own like you did. We’ll be married, and I’ll have Robb and Roslin and the Starks to help, and you, I hope.”  
  
“Of course you will, baby. You’ll always have me.” Alyce sighed heavily. “I just always wanted something better for you.”  
  
“I know, but...” Mya’s eyes welled unexpectedly, and she tucked her head against Theon’s shoulder. “This is the way it is.”  
  
There was another heavy sigh over the line. “Put him on the line.”  
  
“What?” Mya felt cold dread pour over her shoulders.  
  
“Put this boy on the phone, right now please.”  
  
“Mama, I don’t-”  
  
“Mya Kathryn, don’t you think for a second I won’t hop on the first train down to Kingsport and come rapping on his door if I need to. Now, if your father was still alive he’d have a word or two to say to him-”  
  
“That’s a bit rich, don’t you think?” The words slipped out before Mya could stop them but her mother plowed on as if she hadn’t even heard.  
  
“-and it’s only right I get to say them. Now give him the phone.” Alyce finished.  
  
Mya sighed and held the receiver out to Theon. “She wants to talk to you.”  
  
“What?” Theon looked at the phone as if she was offering him a grenade with the pin pulled out. “Tell her I’m not here.”  
  
“Theon!” Mya hissed. “Just do it, would you? It’ll make her happy.”  
  
Heaving a sigh, Theon shot her a look but took the phone. “Evening, Miss Sto-...yes, she is, but....of course I do...well, we weren’t exactly plan- no, I’d never do that. Wouldn’t dream of it...no, I’m not lying. She wanted to.” Theon fell silent for five full minutes, going by his watch, and Mya watched with apprehension. “I understand. Right....yes. You have a good night too.”  
  
Looking as though he’d just run a marathon with a pebble in his shoe, Theon handed the phone back to Mya. She covered the mouthpiece with her hand, irrationally afraid. “What’d she say to you?’  
  
“Oh, you know.” Theon waved a hand casually in one breath, and desperately reached for his cigarettes with the next. “Just welcoming me into the family. She wants to talk to you again.”  
  
Swallowing past a sudden lump of fear in her throat, Mya brought the phone to her ear. “Mama?”  
  
Alyce was already mid-sentence. “-a week, you said? Alright, I’ll dust off my dancing shoes. You’re at least having  this in a church, right? Not some godless ceremony at City Hall?”  
  
“Of course we’re having it in a church!” Mya saw no need to tell her mother that the church was Aeron Greyjoy’s. Not yet. “And you really have no place to judge. You never even got married.”  
  
“Yes, but this isn’t about me, sweetheart. Let me get my old bones to bed now, will ya? And Mya, honey, try to keep your legs closed till you’re a married woman.”  
  
“Why?” Mya asked. “I mean, what else can happen?”  
  
“Just do this and let me at least pretend my bastard isn’t having a bastard.”  
  
“Thanks, Mama.” Mya’s tone was dry. “I love you.”  
  
“I love you too, baby, and I mean it. No more relations till you’re a missus.”  
  
Mya placed the receiver back in the cradle, rubbing a hand over her face. Theon rubbed the back of her neck, drawing her back against his chest. “That wasn’t so bad.”  
  
“It could’ve gone better.” Mya curled against his front. “She just sounded so...disappointed.”  
  
Theon shrugged and twirled a lock of her hair between his fingers. “She’ll perk up once she sees you all done up. Women always do.” He let his hands drift lower, idly stroking her belly. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? You hardly ate anything at dinner.”  
  
“I did so! I ate half a sea bass, it feels like! Not to mention half a dozen cheddar biscuits.” Mya wiggled one of her hands between his. “Between you and my brother though, I’m surprised there are any fish left in the ocean.”   
  
“You had halibut, sailor, not sea bass.” Theon chuckled. “Honestly, dove, if you’re going to be marrying into my family, you’d better at least know your seafood.” He sat up and stretched, lazily kissing her neck. “C’mon to bed now. It’s been a fucking long day and I got some kinks you need to help me work out.”   
  
“Kinks, huh?” Mya smiled wryly. She let Theon pull her up and towards the bedroom, tugging at her clothes all the way. _Mama said no more relations, and we’ll hold off...starting tomorrow._


	5. Rising Tide

“Theon...Theon, wake up!”  
  
Throwing a tangled blanket off his legs, Theon sat up blearily. “Whuzzat? I wasn’t dreaming again...”   
  
Mya propelled herself into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. “It snowed all night! Look! Oh, I hope it keeps it up so we can have a white wedding!” She pressed against him, and he could feel her nipples, hard in the cold morning air, under the oversized pajama top she was wearing. “Oh, but then what if your uncle couldn’t get over from Pyke?” She didn’t sound particularly worried about the possibility, Theon had to say.  
  
“The wedding’s a week and a half away, dove. The snow will melt by then.” Theon tried to ignore the way she wiggled on his lap, with little success; after speaking with her mother, Mya had become insistent that they wait until after the wedding for any further “relations”. He’d convinced her that using her hands and mouth didn’t count as proper “relations”, wherever she’d gotten _that_ term from, but to his immense frustration that was as far as she’d go. “All it means is that now I’ve gotta play school bus.”  
  
Mya blinked at him, confused, as he flopped back and pulled her down on top of him lazily. He had to be up soon, but not _just_ yet. “School bus?”  
  
“Mmhmm...” Threading his legs through hers, Theon let his fingers trail over Mya’s ass, just barely covered by a pair of white underwear. She gave him a look, but didn’t move away. “The regular bus can’t get down the drive in the snow, and Jory’s got snow chains on the Caddy, so Robb and I’ll drop the kids off at school on the way in. Which is so much fun.”  
  
“They’re sweet kids,” she said, pecking him on the nose and squirming some more. “Besides, they might not even _have_ school today, the way it snowed last night.”  
  
“They’ll have school, believe you me,” he said, arching up against her slightly. “Now you either need to stop movin’ around, or...” Raising an eyebrow suggestively, Theon ground his hips up against hers.  
  
Sighing, Mya rolled off of him and elbowed him gently in the ribs. “Stop it, Detective. You can wait just a little bit longer.” She stretched out beside him, dark hair fanned against the pillow messily, the buttons of the pajama top straining against her recently more full breasts as she arched her back. “What? Why’re you looking at me like that?”  
  
“Like what?” Theon was about a half a second away from pouncing on her, but so far his considerable powers of persuasion hadn’t been enough to sway her, and he was due in to work in an hour.  
  
Mya blushed, rather prettily, Theon thought, and turned her head into the pillow, laughing. “Like- well, I was going to say like you want to eat me up. But I don’t think that’s quite what you have in mind, now is it?”   
  
“After a manner of speaking...”  
  
Twenty minutes and one cold shower later, Theon laid on the Caddy’s horn outside the grand main entrance to Riverrun. Before the last blast had died away, a slight figure in a bright red cap with a ridiculous pom-pom popped up from behind a snow-laden bush and fired a snowball right into the windshield of the Caddy.  
  
“Oi!” Theon honked again, scowling as Arya opened the door and slid in next to him, her cold, bare thigh pressed up against him. “If you broke that windshield, I’d’ve tanned your hide.”  
  
“Oh, shut it,” Arya replied, flicking a clump of snow off her shoulder and into Theon’s lap. “It’s not your precious Rolls, so what do you care? I heard Uncle Edmure tell Ma she could sell the damn thing, so it’s not like he cares.”  
  
“Just shut up, kid,” Theon said, watching distractedly as Sansa picked her way down the steps, holding little Rickon by the hand. Her skirt was a tad too short, and he had to work hard to not stare at the curve of her calf. Robb followed them down, carrying Bran on his back and Bran’s chair in his arms. There was a tense second when it looked like they might both go down, but Robb somehow steadied himself just long enough to slide to the car.  
  
A sharp elbow jabbed Theon in the ribs. “Stop staring at my sister, you pervert.” Arya scowled at Theon as Sansa and Rickon climbed in the backseat, shaking snow from their boots.  
  
“Didn’t I say shut up, for Pete’s sake?” Theon twisted in the seat and made a face at Rickon, who was sniffling a little. “Sansa, doll, you look fabulous. Is that for Joffrey, or me?” He grinned at the blush that stained her cheeks, and at the way Robb, who was depositing Bran in the back seat, rolled his eyes.  
  
“Guess getting engaged didn’t change you all that much, huh?” Arya said, squeezing over as Robb climbed in the front seat beside her.  
  
“Nope,” he said, the snow crunching under the Caddy’s tires as Theon carefully pulled out of Riverrun’s driveway. “It’ll take more than a pretty face and fantastic ass to change me-”  
  
Robb snorted. “Please. Let’s not even go there. Just drive, will ya?”  
  
St. Anne’s, the most well-respected private school in Kingsport and technically outside the city limits, looked like something out of a fairytale when they pulled up, all dusted over with snow and sparkling in the early morning light. Even Rickon, usually too self-absorbed to pay much attention to scenery, pressed his pug nose to the window and stared at the way the rising sun lit up the campus. When Theon pulled the Caddy around to the old wing, where the elementary classes were held, Rickon scrambled out and ran towards the doors, his knapsack dragging through the snow behind him.   
  
By the time they’d unloaded the rest of the kids across the quad at the Upper school, carted Bran’s chair to the door and made their way into Kingsport proper, it was half-past nine and still snowing endlessly. Selmy gave them a hard look but said nothing when Robb and Theon slunk in, the snow from their boots falling all over the freshly mopped tile floor. Lancel Lannister gave them an almost pleading look, but said nothing and went to fetch the mop again.  
  
The moment they sat down, Robb flung a folder across the scarred expanse of their desks. “Ow. Damnit.” He rubbed his shoulder, scowling. The wound was healing fast, but not fast enough for him, evidently. “Just one open case left...and what a fucking mess it is.”  
  
Taking a deep breath, Theon stood right back up, ignoring the folder. “I don’t know about you, but I need some joe.” Robb groaned something unintelligible, and, taking it as an affirmative, Theon went and poured two mugs. The coffee was black and almost as thick as tar, and he wondered how long it’d been sitting, and if it’d be worth waiting for Lannister to brew a new pot up.   
  
Dumping cream and sugar in both mugs, he decided against waiting and made his way back to the desks where the innocuous manila folder sat on his desk, waiting to bring him down. Theon had mostly succeeded in forgetting about what he’d done, about how Mace Tyrell’s meaty neck had sounded when it snapped in his hands, and the bright copper smell of his chauffeur's blood as it stained the seats of his uncle’s boat, or so he’d thought. He wasn’t proud of what he’d done, but the fact that Mya was curled up in his bed right now, with _his_ baby growing in her belly, and not down an eye...or worse, was more than good enough to soothe his conscious. _What little of it is left,_ Theon thought, handing Robb his favorite mug, the one with a fish-shaped handle.  
  
“Uh-huh. Right...” Robb wedged the telephone between his ear and his good shoulder to take the mug, making a face at the muddy color of the drink. “Yes, I _know_ it’s the fifth one this month, but you have to underst- No, Headmistress Mordane, I wasn’t talking back. I just- No-oo.” The tops of Robb’s ears were bright red, and he refused to look at Theon, even when Theon snapped his fingers at him, impatient to be filled in. “Of course not, Headmistress. We’ll be right there.”  
  
“Headmistress _Mordane_?” Theon raised an eyebrow. “Kill me now. What’d that old bat want?”   
  
He had less-than-fond memories of his time at St. Anne’s, and of Headmistress Mordane in particular. When he’d started at the posh private school, the headmaster had been a weak old man who was given to haranguing students to join his stamp-collecting club, but within a few years, he retired and Mordane took over. Unlike some of the younger, more comely, nuns, Mordane was never taken in by Theon’s charm in the slightest, and he still remembered the yardstick she’d broken over his ass after catching him under the bleachers looking up the older girls’ skirts.  
  
“...another fight, the fifth one this month, I guess, so-”  
  
“Rickon’s gotten in five fights?” Theon said, impressed.  
  
“Not Rickon, Arya! She knocked three of one of those Dayne kids’ teeth in.” Robb sighed with exasperation. “Don’t you listen at all? Now I’ve got to go pick her up, my mother’s out, probably at one of those charity luncheons or something, I don’t know...” He ran a hand through his hair, looking around despondently at all the paperwork covering his desk. “God _damn_ it, I wanted to get some of this done today.”  
  
Nothing if not opportunistic, Theon his opening and went for it. “I’ll go get her. You’re a shit driver in the snow anyway, and I gotta...make some arrangements.” He didn’t want to mention the wedding, not in the stationhouse, but by the mildly impressed look on Robb’s face, he got the idea all the same. “Alright, so you get to work on the paper pushin’, and I’ll go pick up the little Jack Dempsey-in-training.”  
  
Before Robb could protest, or even open his mouth, Theon grabbed his wool peacoat from the back of his chair and made for the exit, making a mental note to pick Arya up a full fifth next time he was at Asha’s. _Speaking of Asha’s..._ One of the “arrangements” he had to make was with his Uncle Aeron, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it. Theon wasn’t exactly what you’d call “religious”, but it’d meant more to him than Mya knew when she’d agreed to marry in his uncle’s old stone church by the bay. It was where generations of Greyjoys had married, and he’d be damned if he was going to break that tradition.  
  
Following the same route he’d just taken, Theon made his way back out to St. Anne’s, frowning at the way the gears of the Caddy ground together loudly every time he shifted. He’d let Robb be the one to tell Catelyn that her brother’s car was going to need a new transmission, and sooner rather than later. When he pulled into the long, circular drive of St. Anne’s, the elementary-aged children out at recess stared as he drove past and parked in front of the upper school. When Arya didn’t appear after a moment, even when he laid on the horn, Theon clenched his teeth together in irritation and flicked his half-smoked Lucky in a snowbank as he climbed out of the Cadillac.   
  
The halls were hushed when he strode in, a steady drip the only sound. Looking around, Theon spotted a janitor emptying a tin bucket into his mop pail, then replacing it under the leak. “Old pipes,” the old man said with a shrug.  
  
“I know the feeling,” Theon replied, shaking his head. The pipes in his cottage were horrible, and he’d given up on pestering Robb to bring up replacing them to Catelyn. Leaving the old man to his work, Theon made his way to the office, as grim and cold as he remembered it. Arya was sitting on a straight-backed wooden chair, sullenly kicking her feet against the rungs. She held a dishcloth full of ice to one eye, but he could see the beginnings of a black eye blooming out from under the icepack.  
  
“Let’s go, you little juvenile delinquent,” Theon motioned from the doorway, unwilling to enter and be subject to the eagle eyes of the nuns himself.  
  
“What’re _you_ doing here?” Arya’s expression was a mixture of suspicion and hope. “Mordane said she was calling Robb when nobody answered at Riverrun...”  
  
“Yeah, and if he drove you’d both die in the resulting crash,” Theon told her. “Now c’mon, I’ve got shit to do.”  
  
A small cough alerted Theon and Arya both to the presence of another person entering the room. “I’m _sure_ I didn’t hear you just curse in front of this child and God, Mister Greyjoy.” The nun, a young woman with striking dark eyes, motioned to the large crucifix hanging on the wall. With no small amount of effort, he kept from rolling his eyes. When Theon had gone to St. Anne’s, he’d talked his way out of morning chapel by claiming difference of religious beliefs, but this woman was clearly too young to have been teaching here when he was a student. “The headmistress is busy, but there’s a form you need to sign before we can release Miss Stark into your care.”  
  
Following her into the small sideroom she’d come out of, Theon coughed, confused. “I’ve picked her up before, for Chris-, er... How’d you know who I am, anyway?”  
  
“Please.” The look the young sister gave him was bored. “We do read the papers here, you know.” She handed him a clipboard and a fountain pen, tapping a blank line with one finger. He was surprised to see a hint of pale pink lacquer there, but said nothing. “Sign here, if you would.”  
  
Dashing his name off, he handed the form back with a weary smile. “Ah, of course. Well, if you don’t mind, we’ll be on our way, Sister...?” Theon really wasn’t in the mood to discuss the circumstances behind his appearance in the paper, especially not with this nun with bedroom eyes.  
  
“Margaret Mary,” she said, her stern expression softening slightly. Normally, Theon hated pity, but on her, it just made her look younger, less...well, nunly. He wondered what her hair looked like under that wimple, then found himself imagining the curves of her body, hidden under her long habit. _You’re going straight to Hell, Greyjoy..._ “Yes, I’m sure the roads are bad. I’ll file this, and you can be on your way.”  
  
“Fantastic, Maggie.”   
  
The words had no more than left his mouth when her stern expression returned, a slight flare of her nostrils telling him he’d gotten under her skin. “It’s _Sister_ Margaret Mary, Mr. Greyjoy, and I’ll thank you to remember it.” He opened his mouth to reply, and she held a finger up, quirking one dark brow slightly. “Go on, say it.”  
  
The challenge in her voice had him half-hard, and Theon fought back a smirk. _Sweet Mother, I need to get laid..._ “You have a nice day, Sister Margaret Mary.” His eyes never leaving hers, Theon snapped his fingers at Arya, who was staring slack-jawed at them both. “Let’s go, shrimp.”  
  
“I can’t believe you called Sister Margaret Mary _Maggie_!” Arya said once they were safely in the car, snow pelting the windshield in huge clumps. “You’re lucky she didn’t bend you over the desk and cane you...she’s _mean_.”  
  
“No nun’s gonna beat me, missy, not even a good-lookin’ one like that.”   
  
Arya grinned at him, holding her hand out for the lit cigarette between his lips. “You’d prob’ly like it if she did. Now butt me, and I won’t tell Mya you were flirting with a nun.”  
  
Theon didn’t hesitate at all, but handed the cigarette over with a sigh. Arya played hard ball, he knew from experience, and would embroider the story until he looked like a complete pervert. “Goddamn, you’re a worse extortionist than my uncle Eur-” He cut himself short, mentally kicking himself in the ass. “Your ma’s gonna cast a whole litter of kittens when she hears about this, you know that, right?”  
  
“I know,” Arya said, taking a long drag on the Lucky Strike before handing it back to him. “But Edric Dayne said...” She shrugged, her jaw jutting out stubbornly. “Never mind.”  
  
“Hey, those Dayne’s are insufferable, I know. That kid’s gotta cousin, name of Gerold, a real high hat, if ya know what I mean? But you can’t go around gettin’ in fights...I mean, you’re a _girl_ , for Chrissake.”  
  
“I bet your sister can fight,” Arya said, grinning. “Robb said she’s a real ball-buster.”  
  
“Asha could beat most men’s asses any day. But she also doesn’t run around lookin’ like a wild Indian,” Theon said, casting a significant glance at Arya’s black eye, bedraggled braids and wrinkled jumper. “You wanna be like her, you’re gonna have to doll yourself up a bit. But speaking of siblings, did I tell ya...? ‘Member that boxer, Gendry Waters, I was tellin’ you about, he goes by the Bull?”  
  
“The one that took down the Umberjack?” There were stars in Arya’s eyes, if Theon wasn’t mistaken.  
  
“The one and same. He just happens to be Mya’s long-lost little brother.”  
  
“You gotta be kiddin’ me!” Arya was bouncing excitedly on the seat now, as they made the turn into Riverrun, the driveway blanketed in fresh powder. “You’re gonna introduce me, right? Right?” She scooted over on the bench seat and jabbed Theon in the ribs with a bony knuckle. “Right?!”  
  
“Jesus, I don’t know, kid, seems like you’ve got the hang of it already.” Theon teased, shoving her towards the passenger door. “Besides, your ma and brother would kill me...”  
  
“Come oooon.” Arya crossed her arms over her chest with a frown. “You gotta at least introduce him to me.”  
  
“If you get the hell outta my car, I’ll set something up.”   
  
Quicker than he would’ve thought possible, Arya was out of the car and halfway up the steps, waving at him and smiling like mad, her black eye swollen almost shut.  
  
Driving back into town past estate after estate blanketed in snow was like being inside a snowglobe. Normally, such a peaceful drive would have a calming effect on him, but today Theon was having a hard time relaxing. Not only was he dying to get laid, but he wasn’t looking forward to the disapproving looks he was going to get from Uncle Aeron, or the teasing of Asha and Uncle Vic.   
  
Sooner than he would’ve liked, the dingy facade of Asha’s club came into view, and he parked in the back alley, blocking in his Uncle Aeron’s old Model A. Before he could even get out, though, the heavy steel door swung open and a young man in a disheveled suit came flying out and landed in a dirty snowbank. Vic followed shortly after, and as Theon watched, tossed what looked like a leather wallet on top of the man’s slumped form.  
  
“Come back and I’ll do more than give ya a broken nose, pal.” Theon got out of the car and slammed the door, wanting to get his uncle’s attention. “Oi, nephew, what’re you doin’ here? No shipments tonight...wanna take a swing at this fella, though? He came in with some phony tin badge, pretendin’ to be a dirty cop we could buy.”   
  
Theon snorted, nudging the kid in the ribs with one booted foot. He wouldn’t mind giving someone a beatdown right about now, but he had business to take care of, and he wasn’t going to let this poor sap distract him. “Nice try, but they’ve already got one on payroll. Now scram.”  
  
Vic and Theon watched in silence as the kid scrambled away, but when he rounded the corner of the alley, they both burst out laughing. “Kid couldn’t’a been more than fifteen,” Vic said, still chuckling, as he held the door open for Theon. “But still, can’t let him think he can get away with shit like that, now can we?”  
  
“Not on your life, Unc. You see him again, you hand him over to me, though...you got no sense, beatin’ up a fifteen year old kid.” A slow jazz number drifted up the dark hallway, and Theon was unaccountably reminded of Roz and the way her body would mold to his in the small room she had upstairs, the way her creamy skin would shine in the lamplight... Gritting his teeth, Theon shook his head. _Enough._  
  
“I didn’t,” Vic said with a grin. As they came out into the club, he pointed at Asha, who was examining her right hand, Roz standing on tiptoe to peek over her shoulder. “Your sister did.” There was no mistaking the pride in his voice, and Theon just rolled his eyes.  
  
“How lady-like,” he said dryly. “Where’s Uncle Aeron at? I need a word.”  
  
As expected, Vic jerked a thumb towards Asha’s office at the back, his grin widening. “Go on, Asha and I’ll be right behind ya.”  
  
“For fuck’s sake...”   
  
Ignoring his uncle’s amused chuckle, Theon made his way through the sparse crowd on the dance floor. Roz winked at him from across the room as she slipped behind a door that he knew led upstairs to a comfortable room where she entertained patrons. He made a mental note to ask Asha who she’d been seeing and knocked twice on the door to the office before heading on in - he didn’t want to take a bullet, not even from the cheap little peashooter his uncle carried. Fragrant cigar smoke curled out past him as he entered, along with the soft shuffle of bills being counted.  
  
Not glancing up from his work, Aeron motioned to a chair. “Theon. Asha said you needed to see me?”  
  
Before he could reply, Asha and Vic came in together, a huge steak tied to Asha’s hand. Aeron and Theon’s eyes met, but his uncle’s face gave nothing away. Theon wasn’t so unfazed. “What’s with the steak?” He asked, raising one eyebrow.  
  
Asha shrugged. “We’re almost outta ice...I didn’t wanna waste it.” The way one corner of her mouth curled up in a suggestion of a smile made him think the steak had probably been Vic’s idea. “Anyway, are you gonna fill Uncle Aeron in, or what?”  
  
“I was about to, until you two interrupted.” He turned back to Aeron, ignoring the way his sister curled up in their uncle’s lap. “Uncle...” He felt like an idiot, but he didn’t quite know how to say what he wanted. This whole thing was a bit beyond him, and Theon loathed that feeling. “I’m marrying Mya.”  
  
“And?” His uncle’s solemn gaze never left his, so they were both able to pretend they hadn’t heard Asha’s indelicate snort.  
  
“And I want it done the Old Way. In your church.”  
  
“And the girl has agreed to this?” Aeron was incredulous. “Does she understand our ways at all? Does she even know about the Drowned God, or-”  
  
“She knows enough,” Theon interrupted, fighting back the urge to roll his eyes. “Besides, you married Uncle Vic and Aunt Clara, I remember. I was the ringbearer and Asha was a flower-”  
  
“Oh for Chrissake,” Asha said. “Let’s _not_ go down Memory Lane, huh? Unc, just say you’ll do it so he’ll shut up already.”   
  
Theon held his uncle’s gaze a moment longer, willing him to just say ‘yes’ and get this awkward family moment over with. Finally, Aeron nodded stiffly. “Of course. You’re a Greyjoy, it’s only fitting.”  
  
“And there’s one other thing...” He took a deep breath and went on when Aeron raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “Mya wants rings.”  
  
“Rings.”   
  
The word fell into the silence of the room like a stone thrown into a pond. There were no rings exchanged in the marriage ceremonies performed in his uncle’s seaside church, Theon knew that. But it seemed like a small thing to ask, and there was so much that Mya wasn’t getting in terms of this wedding...he wanted to give her this one thing.  
  
“Rings,” he said firmly. “She wants to exchange rings. And so do I.” In reality, he was somewhat ambivalent about the idea, but that was beside the point.  
  
“He already gave her Ma’s emerald-cut diamond,” Asha piped up. Theon glared at her, doing his best to ignore the way she was toying with the buttons of Vic’s shirt, but she just laughed. “What? You better’ve given it to her by now, I gave it to you a week and a half ago. Besides, if Balon Greyjoy can give his wife a ring, I don’t see why you can’t.”  
  
Theon was stunned...was Asha actually taking his side for once? Judging by the expressions of both their uncles, they shared his incredulity. Vic shifted Asha on his lap to stare at her. “You gave him your mother’s ring? Why the fuck...?”  
  
Asha rolled her eyes and poked him in the chest. “It’s not like I wear it, is it? It was just sitting in the safe, and if he’s gonna give her a ring, at least it’s one Pop came by honestly, if ya know what I mean...”   
  
Her wry smile was enough to disarm Vic, who laughed at her suggestion the ring was gotten by any other means besides ill ones. Aeron shook his head, but when he spoke, all he said was, “I suppose we can work it in somehow.”  
  
Theon was relieved, but didn’t let it show. Maybe this good news would be enough to convince Mya to drop her panties for him...he could only hope. As if she could read his mind, Asha smirked.  
  
“So she’s cut ya off, huh?”   
  
“...the fuck? How’d you know...” Theon was speechless.  
  
“Please,” Asha said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’re wound tighter than I’ve ever seen you before, and you were eyeing Roz like she was a steak dinner.”  
  
He shrugged. “Maybe I’ll pay her a visit...one last fling before the wedding.” He had no intentions of doing so, but Theon didn’t want his family to think he’d been tamed so easily as he seemed to have been.  
  
The grin on Asha’s face told him he wasn’t fooling her, or anyone else. “Uh-huh. Too bad you’ve been replaced as her favorite in the family...” She glanced, amused, at Aeron, whose jaw was clenched. “Or as her favorite, period.”  
  
“Mind your tongue, niece,” Aeron snapped, going back to counting bills.  
  
“I’ll let Uncle Vic do that for me,” Asha said sweetly.  
  
“And that’s my cue to go.” Theon had had about enough of his family for the day. “Ash, I’m takin’ a couple bottles. Call and let me know when that shipment’s ready to go out.”   
  
“Mmmhmm...” His sister was whispering in Vic’s ear now, but she glanced at him as he stood and made for the door. “Oh, and tell Mya I’ve got something for her for the wedding, yeah? She can call me here at the club.”  
  
He hated to think what on Earth that might be, but Theon just nodded and slipped out. There was no use asking...if she’d wanted him to know, she’d’ve told him. And anyway, he had things to do...like see about a wedding band.


	6. Another Night, Another Dinner

“What do you think? The blue, or the pink?” Mya held two different dresses up to herself, craning her neck down to try and see which looked better. “Theon, pay attention!”  
  
“I am, dove. I’m just admiring the view.” Theon was stretched out on their bed (it was alarming how easy it had been to go from referring to things as ‘Theon’s to ‘theirs’, Mya realized), hands clasped behind his head as he watched her. Gendry was due to pick her up in less than an hour to whisk her off to Stannis Baratheon’s house for dinner, something she wasn’t looking forward to in the least bit. She was terrified of saying the wrong thing to the tightly-wound district attorney, so much so that she couldn’t even decide what to wear. At present, she was clad in a slip, her hair up in enormous rollers while she pawed through what clothing she’d taken to Theon’s.   
  
“Admiring the view.” Mya snorted, tossing both dresses down on the foot of the bed. One was a deep peacock blue with a geometric navy pattern on it, and the other was pale pink and heavily beaded. _The blue’s a tighter fit, but the pink might be too flashy for Stannis._ “You’re having a good laugh out of this, aren’t you.”  
  
“You know me too well.” Theon shifted on the bed, leaning against the pillows he’d bunched behind him head. “Why not that red one in the closet there?”  
  
“What? No. That’s too revealing. I’m going to my uncle’s, not out to a jazz club!” The red dress in question had a plunging neckline and, according to Theon, left little to the imagination in certain light. Mya sighed and grabbed the blue one, slipping it on and struggling with the zipper. “Oh for Pete’s sake, will you just _work_?”  
  
Theon chuckled and slid off the bed, prying her hands away from the zipper. “Careful, or else you’ll rip it and you’ll have to go in your slip. Ol’ Stannis would have an aneurysm if you strolled in like that. Now hold still.”  
  
Mya obeyed, and Theon soon worked the zipper up, planting a kiss on the back of her neck and tracing his finger along the delicate silver chain that hung there. It had been one of his Christmas gifts to her, a unique little pendant that depicted an octopus clutching a diamond. Mya had no idea where he’d found it, and every time she asked he just shrugged, occasionally with a boyish grin. Tonight, she just turned to face him, kissing him gently. “Thank you.”  
  
He let the kiss linger, but only for a moment. “Now, what’re you gonna do about these radio tubes coming out of your head? I think you oughta leave ‘em. Make Stannis think there’s a nutjob in the family.”  
  
“If all you’re going to do is make fun of me you can just go away.” Mya pointed at the bedroom door, but she was laughing at the same time. “Go on, get. Keep an eye out for Gendry.”  
  
Theon kissed her again and started puttering around in the main room. She heard him flick on the radio and mess with the dial while she hurriedly did  her hair and makeup, glancing at Theon’s alarm clock all the while. Turning sideways, she examined her profile in the mirror. The dress pulled the slightest bit across her middle, but it wasn’t noticeable unless you really looked. Mya smoothed her hand over her stomach, willing it to settle down. She didn’t know if it was nerves or nausea tonight, but she did feel like the mix could spell disaster. _Nice to finally get a chance to sit down with you, Uncle District Attorney Stannis. Please excuse me while I throw up in your flower vase._  
  
Giving her hair one last fluff,  Mya headed out into the main room. Theon was rooting around in the refrigerator for some leftovers, and straightened at the sound of her heels on the hardwood floor. He whistled appreciatively, holding a plate of meatloaf in one hand and making a spinning motion with the other. “Lemme see.”  
  
Mya smiled and turned, letting her skirt flare out a little. “Do I pass?”  
  
“With flying colors. Still think you should wear the red one, but if I’m not gonna be there to see it, what’s the point?” He bumped the refrigerator door shut with a heel and started slicing a thick loaf of bread, only to nearly slice his hand open when the front door burst open with a bang.  
  
“Is he here yet? Is he?” Arya pawed at her scarf and tore her hat off, leaving her short dark hair spiked and messy. Her eyes scanned the room eagerly as if whoever she was looking for was hiding behind the sofa. One was still slightly swollen, the skin around it more of a sickly greenish-yellow than the purple it had been. Theon had sounded almost proud of Arya when he’d told Mya about the scrape she’d gotten into at school.  
  
“Is who here?” Mya pushed the door shut and rubbed her arms.  
  
“The _Bull_! Who else?” Arya flung herself down on the sofa, slumping out of her coat. “I didn’t want to miss him.”  
  
Mya raised an eyebrow at Theon, who was trying to hide a grin. “Um. No, he should be here any minute.” She looked closer at Arya. “Are you wearing _lipstick_?”  
  
“No!” Arya scrubbed a fist across her mouth and glowered. “I just wanna meet him, is all. He’s a good fighter.”  
  
“She’s in love.” Theon slouched next to her on the sofa and took an enormous bite out of his sandwich.  
  
“No I’m not!” Arya swatted at him, and when Theon’s eyes met Mya’s they both laughed. Mya perched on the arm of the couch and ruffled the girl’s hair.   
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t say a word. And neither will Theon.”  
  
“The Hell I won’t-” The sweep of headlights through the picture window interrupted Theon, and Arya sat bolt-upright on the couch. Mya dropped a kiss on the top of Theon’s head and went to let Gendry in.   
  
Her brother’s cheeks were red with cold as he stepped in and pecked her cheek. “Evening Mr. Greyjoy. Cold out there tonight”  
  
Theon raised a hand. “Evening-ow, Jesus, kid.” Arya had dug her elbow into Theon’s ribs. “Gendry, this is Arya, my buddy Robb’s baby sister.”  
  
“I’m fourteen, next July.” Arya leapt to her feet, and if Mya didn’t know better she’d’ve sworn the girl was standing on her toes to seem taller. She shot a glare at Theon from her newfound height. “Hardly a baby.”   
  
Gendry doffed his cap, lips twitching as he took in her black eye. “Pleased to meet you.”  
  
“Did you really take down the Umberjack in two rounds? They were talking about that at school for ages.” When Mya glanced at Arya, she half-expected to see the girl with her hands clasped over her heart, eyes wet with love.   
  
Clearly Gendry was caught off-guard. He stammered, looking to her for help. “I...uh...well, yeah, I guess I did. Went down like a sack of bricks. I’m up against him again next week, y’know. I could maybe see if I could get you a ticket-” Mya cleared her throat sharply, remembering the rough-and-tumble crowd that attended fights like Gendry’s, and his cheeks blazed redder. _Not to mention what you and Theon got up to in the back seat after._ “Uh, actually, they don’t allow kids at the fights.”  
  
As quickly as it’d risen, Arya’s face fell and Mya realized she felt a little sorry for her. There was a beat of silence, and Theon cleared his throat. “You two better scram if you want to be to Stannis’s by seven.”  
  
“Right.” Gendry suddenly looked nervous, as though he was about to meet his date’s father for the first time, and he turned to Mya. “I don’t have a suit or nothin’, are you sure this is alright?”  
  
“Let me see.” Mya gestured, and Gendry shucked off his thick corduroy overcoat. Behind her she could’ve sworn she heard Arya gasp at the way Gendry’s blue button-down shirt strained across his chest. He’d managed to find a dark grey vest that mostly matched his pants, and she could see he’d even polished his shoes. She smiled at his rolled-up sleeves, and grabbed a rag off the kitchen counter. “C’mere.” Turning his arm slightly, she wiped a long streak of either shoe polish or motor oil off his muscular forearm. “Better. I think you’ll do. Arya, what do you think?”  
  
Arya’s eyes were still stuck on Gendry’s muscles and Theon looked like he was about to break a rib trying not to laugh. She nodded mutely, chewing on the inside of her cheek, and Mya glanced at the clock over the stove. “Jiminy Crickets, Gendry, we’ve got to get a move on!” She tossed the rag down and grabbed her coat, glancing a kiss across Theon’s hair. “You be good, and do your dishes when you’re done, alright?”  
  
Theon grumbled but agreed, and Mya grabbed Gendry’s wrist. Leaving a still star-struck Arya behind, they plunged into the cold night. The truck parked haphazardly in front of the cottage looked older than God, the black paint speckled with road salt and slush. Gendry pulled the passenger side door open, and looked slightly abashed. “Sorry about the mess. It’s my buddy’s and he’s a bit of a pig.”  
  
“It’s alright.” Mya smiled and nudged a pile of old, oily rags aside while he trotted around to the other side. “Now, do you know where this place is?”   
  
“Sort of.” Gendry shifted the truck into gear and it rumbled towards the  main road. “All these rich folks live twenty miles between houses.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how they do it. Or how _you’ll_ do it. You’re going to be one of them now, right?”  
  
Mya laughed; she couldn’t help it. “Please. The Starks are rich. Theon’s...” _Theon’s got more stashed away in his mattress than anyone knows._ “We’ll be comfortable, but we’ll never have a mansion.”  
  
“He’ll be able to take care of you though, right?” Gendry’s voice was veined with a certain gruff brotherly concern.  
  
“Yes, Gendry, he’ll be able to take care of me.” She nudged him with an elbow. “I wouldn’t be marrying him if he couldn’t. I think you’re supposed to take a left here.”  
  
The drive out to Stannis Baratheon’s house left the comforting lights of the city far behind, and for a long time the only thing on either side of the road were empty rolling fields, black under a moonless sky. Occasionally a naked tree would pop up on the side of the narrow road, spindly branches looking like finger bones in the truck’s headlights. They gave Mya the willies, and she hoped that whatever came out of this dinner, that this wasn’t a drive she’d have to make often.  
  
Gendry initially drove right past the two brick-and-mortar pillars that announced Stannis’s driveway, and the truck shuddered as he slammed on the brakes and reversed. The driveway was even more narrow than the country roads they’d taken out here, and at first Mya nearly didn’t see the house. A faint pinprick of light caught her eye though, soon followed by many more. The manor was dark, she realized, and it was unusual. She wondered for a moment if she had the wrong night, and if perhaps no one was home?  
  
The truck sputtered to a stop in front of a wide, intimidating stairway, and Mya and Gendry looked at each other. “Kind of scary place, isn’t it?” He asked.  
  
Mya nodded. “I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t quite...this.”  
  
The pinpricks of light, up close, were windows. Great, square windows covered the front of the manor, broken up by stone that in the daylight would be a dark, burnt-looking grey. Several of the rooms behind the windows had lights on in them, but from what Mya could see, heavy curtains were drawn across them. The place looked like a fortress in a time of war, not like a home. Mya exhaled, her breath a cloud in front of her face. “Well, let’s get this overwith.”  
  
“Looks like Renly’s here, at least.” Gendry nodded at a sleek, low car parked just beyond his truck. The sight of it made Mya feel a little better - Renly was safe. Mya tucked her hand into Gendry’s elbow, and they started up the wide concrete steps to the front door.   
  
The inside of the manor was no more inviting than the outside, and before long Gendry and Mya had been led into a long, low dining room. A massive fireplace took up one wall, but there were no flames in it tonight. The furniture was all dark, heavy wood, as was the little artwork lining the walls. What really made Mya grow cold, though, were the heads mounted over the fireplace. Stags, boars, moose...it seemed the Stannis had killed half the North Woods and stuffed them. It shouldn’t have been so unsettling to her; she’d grown up in a mountain town where nearly all the men vanished come November, parking themselves out in the mountains and forests and hunting to their hearts’ content. For Heaven’s sake, the general store around the corner from her mother’s small house had a taxidermied bear that the owner used to dress up for different holidays. _It just seems...colder here. I doubt Stannis puts bunting on these for the Fourth of July._  
  
“How kind of you to join us. I wasn’t aware all the clocks in Kingsport ran late.” Speaking of Stannis, his stony voice rang out from the end of the ornate, heavy dining table. As if to drive the point home, the grandfather clock in the entrance bonged 7:15 morosely. Mya swallowed hard, but offered a forced smile as she approached the table, Gendry a step behind. Stannis sat at the head of it, hands folded and spine ramrod-straight. Renly sat to his left, leaning back in his chair, one leg crossed casually over the other. He tapped ash off his cigarette, grinning widely at Stannis’s glare, and stood as Mya and Gendry approached.  
  
“Come off it, Stan. This place is hard enough to find in the daylight. It’s high time you got some lights out by the road.” Renly offered his hand to Gendry, and they shook. Renly tilted his head, examining his nephew closely, and he glanced at Stannis. “No question here. Look at ‘im. It’s like looking at my college yearbook.”  
  
Stannis grunted, and gestured to two seats to his right. Mya and Gendry glanced at each other, both unsure what to say. Gendry offered a small shrug, and pulled out one of the chairs for Mya. The four of them sat in silence for a few moments before Renly straightened a bit in his chair. “So, Gendry, Mya tells me you’re in the automotive industry?”  
  
 _Automotive industry._ Gendry glanced at Mya, and they both bit back a small smile. “I was, yes. Parts and, uh, manufacturing. The work dried up a bit though, so if you know anyone who needs a lug nut tightened, toss ‘em my way.”  
  
“So you’re unemployed, is what you’re trying to dress up.” Stannis cut in. His cold blue eyes glanced towards a hidden door as it opened on silent hinges, and a thin, slightly bent-over woman placed steaming bowls of soup in front of them. When she set Stannis’s down, he simply raised his eyebrows at her until she turned the bowl just slightly, so the linear pattern on the china was at right angles.  
  
Mya drew a breath and froze. Whatever was in the soup, whatever fragrance that was rising from it, was vile. She couldn’t place it, and didn’t even want to try. Her palms grew clammy as Stannis looked at them all expectantly and she knew if she so much as ate a drop of the soup she’d spend the rest of the evening in a heap on the bathroom floor. Next to her, Gendry lifted his spoon to his lips and tasted it, and unless Mya was seeing things, he had to force himself to swallow.  
  
Across the table Renly was having a similar problem. “Good Christ almighty Stan, what _is_ this shit?”  
  
“Family recipe.” Stannis was enjoying his soup.   
  
“Not from _our_ family.” Renly dropped his spoon and shook his head. “Vile.”  
  
“No, not from our family. From Selyse’s. Some great-grandmother or another brought it over from the old country. Beets, horseradish, and walnuts. It’s better cold.” He glanced over at Mya. “Try it. The cook’ll be upset if you don’t.”  
  
“I...um.” Mya’s mind was racing, grasping for an excuse and trying to tell her stomach to calm down. “I have a nut allergy.”  
  
Stannis fixed his gaze on her now, and Mya felt her insides wither. He chewed a bit of walnut carefully. “You’re a terrible liar. Your father would be ashamed.” Renly rolled his eyes, but winked at Mya.  
  
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just not feeling that well.” Mya looked at her hands in her lap, wondering when she’d reverted from being nearly twenty to an easily-scolded eleven-year-old. “I’m sure it’s delicious.”  
  
“Oh for God’s sake, Stan, you’re going to make the poor girl cry. Stop being such a hard-ass. We’re all family after all, aren’t we?” Renly tossed his cloth napkin on the table, his tone significantly less jovial now. The look the brothers exchanged was both cold and hard as steel and for a moment it looked like neither one would break. After a long moment, though, Renly shook his head in disgust, and Stannis returned to his soup. Mya exchanged a glance with her brother, and she knew he was thinking the same thing he was: that the odds of them being able to sneak out while Stannis and Renly fought were pretty much nil. Even so, it was a tempting thought. Theon didn’t have anywhere to be tonight, and suddenly all Mya wanted to do was curl up next to him on their sofa in front of the fire. She wanted to be as far away from this cold, sprawling mansion as she could get.  
  
“Renly showed me the list that your fiance procured for you.” Stannis turned abruptly to Mya, apparently ready to move onto the next topic of conversation. “The list that Ned Stark held onto.” He paused, his expression turning sour. “That information should’ve been kept in the Baratheon family, not given to some outsider.”  
  
 _Outsider._ As far as Mya could tell from the way Robb and Theon spoke about Ned Stark and her own father, they had been far closer to family than Bob had with either of his biological brothers. It would make sense that Stannis would take it as a personal slight, from what she knew of him. She cleared her throat. “I wasn’t sure what to do with it - I initially wanted to find everyone on it, which is how I found Gendry, and Edric Storm but the situation has changed. I’m not going to have as much time to track them down and let them know - our father...Robert...he set up bank accounts for us. I told Gendry about his-”  
  
“Yes, we know about those.” Stannis cut her off with a gesture. “Gendry, you emptied your account already. I’m assuming the money is gone.”  
  
“I-uh. Yes.” Gendry cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded unsteady. Mya squeezed his hand, trying to remind herself that he was still a boy - still just sixteen. “My mother had medical bills and the collection agencies - they took all of it, and they’re still asking for more. I don’t know where-” He shook his head, clearing his throat gruffly, and Mya put a hand on his back. The  muscles there trembled a tiny bit, so quick she wondered if she imagined it.  
  
“I’m sorry.” Renly murmured. “I’ll talk to my wife - we might be able to float you a loan to keep you on your feet.”  
  
“No. Thank you, but no.” Gendry shook his head firmly. “I appreciate the offer, but my ma and I never took charity from anyone.”  
  
“As well you shouldn’t. Public assistance is already a drain on society.” As Stannis spoke the hidden door opened again, and the soup was whisked away and replaced with a steaming pot roast.   
  
“Consider it a gift, then,” Renly went on, shooting his older brother a hard look. “You’re family at the end of the day, both of you.”  
  
“Yes, all happy families and all that..” When Mya glanced at Stannis he was rolling his eyes. “Mya, what about yours? I take it your mother is still in good health.”  
  
“Um. Yes. Yes, she is.” Mya hated how she couldn’t tell if Stannis was being sarcastic or not. “My account is still intact - still at the Iron Bank.”  
  
“So still under the watchful eye of Petyr Baelish, when he’s not suckling off Cersei Lannister’s teat.” Stannis speared a piece of roast with his fork, and the sight of the juice dripping off the meat made Mya reach for her glass of water. “You’d best move it, girl. And not under your name. Put it under your mother’s or...well, I’d say your fiance’s but that would raise more questions than answers now, wouldn’t it.”  
  
“And if you feel so compelled,” Renly broke in. “Feel free to donate it to ol’ Uncle Stan’s mayoral election campaign fund. Cersei Lannister’s only got what, another year or so in charge? I’m surprised you haven’t started a whistlestop campaign yet.” He chuckled. “You’d run this city under martial law, wouldn’t you.”  
  
Mya swore she could hear Stannis’s teeth grinding together. The muscles in his jaw bundled and clenched like rubber bands and for half a second she thought he was about to plant his fork in his younger brother’s chest. When he spoke his voice was tight as a piano wire. “You would do well not to comment on things you do not fully understand, _brother_.”  
  
Renly speared a carrot and grinned at Mya and Gendry. “Stannis had plans to run years ago, before Bob got elected. Huge plans. Campaign slogan, everything. Bob swooped in at the last minute though, swept the polls, and planted his sizeable ass in City Hall for the next few terms. Stan got his panties in a wad and hasn’t _quite_ managed to unbunch them yet. Although,” he leaned forward conspiratorially. “I was talking with my wife’s cousin, Alla, who used to run our trash column, and she said your Uncle Stan’s been seen in some pretty hush-hush, dark corners of dark restaurants with a pretty nice piece of calico who was decidedly not his devoted Selyse. Must be a campaign advisor, I’d say. I never knew my brother was so interested in redheads, but Alla said if that shade of red occurs anywhere but a bottle she’d be gobsmacked.”  
  
“ _Enough._ ” The piano wire that was Stannis’s voice finally snapped, and he stood abruptly. “We are finished here.” He turned to glare at Mya and Gendry, and she felt her insides shrivel even more. Why was he upset with _them? We haven’t done a thing_! “You will withdraw your money, Mya, and tell me where you deposit it. I will ensure that Cersei does not have access to it. Neither of you will speak to Cersei, or any member of her family about your paternity. She already knows about it, but this isn’t the time to get her on your bad side. Or mine.” With one last cold glare at his brother, Stannis chucked his napkin down and strode out of the room.  
  
Renly chuckled and pulled a flask out of his inner jacket pocket. “Ah, Stannis. If he put his mind to it he could shit diamonds.” Taking a pull, he offered the flask to the both of them. Mya shook her head, but Gendry nodded. Renly tossed it over and Gendry took a long drink. “Sorry about the bickering. It’s really what we do best, though. If your father was still alive it would’ve come to blows.”  
  
“Is he really going to run for mayor?” Gendry asked.  
  
“Probably.” Renly shrugged. “He’s been wanting to be in charge of something, _anything_ , since he was little. While Bob was playing with toy soldiers, Stannis was trying to marshal the household help.”  
  
“What were you doing?” Mya asked.  
  
“Laughing my ass off at them both. C’mon. I’ve got to get home and Mya, you look about ready to keel over.” Renly led them back into the grand foyer. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”  
  
“I-oh.” Mya tried to keep her cheeks from blazing and failed. “It’s just a bug, I’m sure.”  
  
“Mmhm.” Renly pulled on his coat, and Mya thought she saw a smirk cross his face. For a heartbeat she was petrified - what if he found out about the baby? What would he do? Then she blinked and the fear was past. What _could_ he do? Eventually people would be able to do the math and all her dirty laundry would be whipping around the city’s social circles. Then Renly was speaking again. “You’d best make sure your detective takes good care of you, then.” He tipped his brown homburg to Gendry. “Pleasure meeting you, Waters. I’m hoping you come out on top against the Umberjack. I’ve got a twenty riding on it, but don’t worry. No pressure.”   
  
With a quick wink he was gone, and Mya heard his car grinding through the snow. She and Gendry glanced at each other, and without a word, nearly ran for Gendry’s old truck. Once safely inside, Gendry slammed the driver’s side door and flicked the ignition. Mya felt a flood of relief when the engine stuttered, rumbled, threatened to die, and then flared to life. Gendry wrenched the wheel around as Mya leaned her head against the back of the seat.  
  
“That was the most uncomfortable dinner I’ve ever been to in my entire life.” Gendry pushed his newsboy cap back on his head and scratched his hair. “It’s bushwa, right? We’re not _really_ related to them, are we? We can’t be. It’s gotta be some sorta mistake.”  
  
“No mistake. You look exactly like Renly, little brother.” Mya rested a hand on her stomach. Now that she was out of the house, away from the horrid smells of dinner, it was starting to settle down and pang with hunger.   
  
Gendry made a small, disgruntled noise in his throat. “Who else is on that list? What other names?”  
  
Mya closed her eyes and started ticking the names off on her fingers. She’d spent so much time staring at it she had it mostly memorized. “There’s me, you, Edric Storm, Bella...what was it. Bella Rivers?”  
  
“Bella _Rivers_?” Gendry nearly slammed on the brakes again, and Mya cracked an eye.

  
“She was right below you on the list. Why?”  
  
Gendry was suddenly gulping for air, so red he was nearly purple, and Mya wondered if he was about to be sick. “I know her. She’s a dance...a waitress at Peaches. It’s this little place out in Stoney Sept, doubt you’ve ever been there. Kind of a dive, really.”  
  
“Get on with it, Gendry. How’d you meet her?” Mya had no doubt as to what sort of place Peaches was. She’d been through Stoney Sept once or twice with Roslin - it was a rough-and-tumble place, run-down, and left her with the distinct feeling that she needed a bath.  
  
Gendry scrubbed one hand over his face, a gesture Mya had noticed was a nervous tic of his. “I asked her out to dinner once or twice.” Mya gaped, then burst out laughing. “Shut it! How was I supposed to know?”  
  
Mya was doubled over on the bench seat, wiping tears of laughter off her cheeks. “Did you kiss her? Oh, Gendry, don’t tell me you brought her home?”  
  
“What? No!” Gendry was gripping the steering wheel with both hands now, white-knuckled as the orange glow of the city began to peek over the hills. “No, I...we....she said she had to work and - stop laughing, would ya? It’s not _that_ funny! What if we had messed around?” He sounded outright horrified now, and Mya took pity on him.  
  
“Well, you didn’t, and now you know better. You oughta be glad. If Arya heard you had a girlfriend don’t think she wouldn’t track her down and beat the tar out of her.”  
  
“Ar- that girl at Theon’s place?” Gendry chuckled. “She seems like a pistol, alright. I bet you she could hold her own at the ring, though.”  
  
“And I bet you that Robb Stark would throw you in the pen if he heard you say that. He and his mother, _especially_ his mother, think Arya needs to start acting like a little lady.”  
  
Gendry snorted. “Good luck with that. Judging from the shiner she’s got it’s more likely that I’ll wind up in one of those mansions like ol’ Uncle Stan. I’ll be lucky not to find the locks changed on my place tonight.”  
  
Mya’s laughter dried up. “I thought you were ok through the end of the month?”  
  
Gendry shrugged, making the turn for the road Riverrun was on. “The landlord knows I got nothin’ beyond that. Why shouldn’t he try to rent the place out a little early? Get himself a few extra skins, can’t fault a man for that.”  
  
“Gendry...listen, just in case, why don’t you stay with Theon and I tonight? The couch is more than comfy, and tomorrow we can talk to Catelyn about working on the Caddy, and if any of her friends need work-”  
  
He was shaking his head though. “I’m not about to take charity, remember? My ma raised me better than that.”  
  
“It’s not charity. You’re my brother, I’m not about to let you sleep out in the cold.”  
  
Riverrun’s driveway was looming, and Gendry turned into it. The back end of the truck fishtailed a little, but the truck shuddered back into a straight line. It slid to a stop in front of Theon’s cottage. “I’m not gonna sleep in the cold, don’t worry.”  
  
Mya wasn’t so sure. “You better not. Give me a jingle tomorrow or I’ll send the hounds out to bring you back, you hear me?”  
  
“Crystal clear.” Gendry pecked her cheek. “Go on, scram.”  
  
He waited until Mya had worked the front door open and with one last blat on the horn, the truck trundled off into the night. When she stepped into the warmth of the cottage, she smiled with exasperated fondness. Theon was stretched out on the sofa, sound asleep with one of his ‘art’ magazines open on his chest. His dinner dishes and ash tray rested on the coffee table next to him, and he had one hand tucked into the waistband of his pants. The radio on the end table had long since ended broadcasting for the night, and was now playing a soft white noise instead. Theon looked so comfortable that she was tempted to leave him there for the night.  
  
Mya slipped off her shoes and tiptoed to their room, carefully hanging up her dress and pulling on one of his undershirts instead. After giving her face a quick scrub in the bathroom, she peeled back the covers and slipped between them, but the second her head hit the pillow she was up again. She’d never be able to sleep without Theon next to her and anyway, he’d be crabby in the morning, and would have a stiff back.   
  
Padding back out into the main room, she perched on the edge of the couch and brushed his hair back. “I thought you were going to do your dishes.”  
  
“‘m gonna.” Theon’s eyes remained steadfastly closed. “Later.”  
  
“Applesauce.” Mya picked the magazine up off his chest and one of the pictures in it caught her eye. “Oh my.”  
  
“Wha?” Theon stirred on the couch now, and he lazily made to snatch it back. “I told you, study of the human form.”  
  
“Right, buster. C’mon, get up.” Mya grabbed the dishes and made for the kitchen with them. She heard Theon eventually sit up and stretch, and after a minute the floorboard creaked as he tucked his magazine back under it.  
  
“Why do you look so much better in my clothes than I do?” He leaned against the icebox, arms folded over his chest. He was openly staring at her rear end and tracing a circle on the inside of his cheek with his tongue. _Just another week._  
  
“Because I’m prettier than you.”   
  
“Can’t argue that, I suppose. How was your dinner?”  
  
Mya shook her head, grabbing a towel and wiping the dripping plate in her hand with it. “Bizarre. Renly and Stannis...I thought they were going to kill each other by the time we were done.”  
  
“What’d your brother think of it?”  
  
“Same, pretty much. I’m worried about him, Theon. He’s out of money, he’s about to lose his home, he’s got no job, and he won’t accept help. I told him he could stay here, but...” she shook her head, pressing her lips together. Her eyes were stinging suddenly, and she blinked furiously.   
  
Theon was looking at her slightly askance as he always did when she started crying which, admittedly, she’d been doing  a lot of lately. The other day a particularly sappy commercial on the radio had set her off for nearly an hour. “Don’t worry about it, yeah? And for fuck’s sake, don’t cry about it. I’ll talk to Cat this week and see what we can work out. I promise.”  
  
“It’s just...I think I’m all he’s got and if something happens to him or he winds up homeless or a vagrant I’ll never forgive myself.” Mya felt cold suddenly and wrapped her arms around her middle as she imagined Gendry huddled under some bridge somewhere, trying to make a fire in an old bean can while snow swirled around him.  
  
Theon sighed and pulled her tight against him. “I swear to Christ, this kid of mine’s making you crazy. He’s not going to wind up a vagrant, for God’s sake. We’ll take care of him, alright?”  
  
“Promise?”   
  
“You’ve got my word.”   
  
Mya took a deep breath then, inhaling his scent, and peeked up at him. “Theon?”  
  
“Yes, dove?”  
  
“Can you make me a sandwich? The food at Stannis’s was horrible and I’m starving.”  
  
“Are you gonna do your dishes afterwards?”  
  
“Probably not.”  
  
He sighed and patted her rump. “Go get yourself in bed. I’ll bring it in a minute.”


	7. Open Wound

**  
  
**Robb flinched as Dr. Luwin pressed on his shoulder. “Still tender?” The old man asked.  
  
“A little. When the weather’s turning.” Robb shifted on the cold metal table, trying to ignore the goosebumps covering his torso. His bullet wound was healing, a soft pink mark the size of a silver dollar, puckered where the black stitches still held it shut. He wished beyond anything Luwin would just pull the damn things out already. The doctor hummed to himself, making a note on his charts, and Robb glanced at Roslin. She’d insisted on coming to all his appointments with him and, per usual, she was perched neatly on a wooden folding chair, holding her bag in her lap and watching the proceedings with no small amount of interest.   
  
“Don’t forget how it itches, Robb.” She spoke up. “I’ve told him not to scratch at it, Doctor, but you know how it is.”  
  
Doctor Luwin gave her a measured glance, and Robb bit back laughter. He knew the old man was scandalized at Roslin being in the same room as Robb during these examinations, given the fact that Robb had his shirt off for them. _If he had any idea what Rosie’s seen and done..._  
  
The doctor coughed, setting down his chart. “It looks like the wound is as closed as it’s going to get. What do you say to getting these stitches out?”  
  
“I say onward and upward, Doc.” Robb smiled. “I’ve nearly done it myself half a dozen times. Rosie there’s the only thing that’s stopped me.” He winked at her, and she rewarded him with a bright smile.  
  
“Alright then. Hold still now, this might sting a little.” Doctor Luwin picked up a pair of scissors and, looking over the edge of his spectacles, snipped the first knot. Robb’s stomach turned a bit at the feel of the fine silk thread being pulled through his skin, and he swallowed hard. Just find something else to focus on. _Just like when Ma used to have to pull splinters_. He caught Roslin’s gaze, and when she smiled again Robb’s stomach relaxed.  
  
 _She must be hot, in all those layers_. Roslin hadn’t removed her long overcoat or her dark red cloche hat. He loved that hat on her - it made her cheeks glow and her dark eyes sparkle. Robb had no idea how he’d been so lucky as to land his Rosie, but he thanked God every day for it. She’d been a near-wreck when he’d been shot, he knew. Theon told him that she’d actually been _civil_ to him while Robb had been in surgery. It had brought a welcome laugh to him after the past few months.  
  
It still brought Robb guilt to think about how he’d behaved in his search for his father’s killer. He thought there would be some sort of relief that would come once he’d fired that fatal shot but instead he only felt worse. Yes, justice had been done, but it was a far cry from what Hoat, and the Lannisters, deserved. _You heard what Stannis said_. Robb had been semi-dozing when Stannis Baratheon had come to his hospital room and reamed Theon out. Robb hadn’t let on that he’d heard every word. _This was your one chance to bring the Lannisters down, and you pissed all over it. You should’ve insisted Theon do something more with those papers. You knew how important they were. You let your temper run with you, and it’s ruined everything. Dad would be ashamed of you_.  
  
A sharp pinch pulled him out of his thoughts, and he hissed. “That stings.”  
  
“It’s the last one.” Doctor Luwin set down his scissors and gave Robb’s shoulder another look. “There, how’s that feel?”  
  
Robb flexed his arm, rotating it and feeling the new skin stretch. “Good as new, doc.”  
  
“Good, good.” Doctor Luwin stood a bit stiffly, patting down his white doctor’s coat. “Ah, I’ve forgotten my pen. You sit here, I’ll be right back.”   
  
Once he shut the door behind him, Roslin jumped up from her chair and threw her arms around Robb. He’d been right, she was warm. He wrapped his arms around her, relishing in the warmth of her against his chilly skin. Flipping off her hat, he buried his nose in her hair, nuzzling her and drawing a giggle from her.   
  
“Knock that off, Robby, your nose is frigid!”  
  
“I know, sweetheart, that’s why I’m doing it.” Robb grinned against her neck, reaching inside her coat and tickling her ribs as she squirmed. “Hold still, will ya?”  
  
Roslin squirmed again, squealing with laughter. “Robb, _stop_ it!”  
  
Robb tickled her again, pulling her close and laughing at her near-hysterics when the door creaked open again and Doctor Luwin  was framed in the doorway. He said nothing, but gave both of them a stern, disapproving look as he shut the door behind him. Robb cleared his throat and Roslin took a step back, straightening her hat and perching back in her seat, ankles crossed demurely. The doctor released them from his gaze and flipped a few pages on Robb’s chart, tapping the pen against the paper until he found what he wanted. “Ah, here we go. Everything should be in order. Try not to overextend that arm. The redness and tenderness will fade, but if it starts to get worse, you let me know straight away. And try not to get shot again, alright? Doctor’s orders.”  
  
“And fiancee’s!” Roslin trilled.   
  
Robb bit back a laugh at the brief look of exasperation that came across Doctor Luwin’s face. “Don’t worry, neither of you. I have no plans on doing that again.”  
  
Once outside, Roslin tucked her hand into Robb’s elbow as they made their way down the sidewalk where Robb had parked his Uncle Edmure’s Caddy. He hoped Theon would be able to convince his mother to let Mya’s brother work on it. The transmission was getting more and more touchy every day, and the last thing needed was for it to break down in the middle of January.  
  
Roslin was talking, startling Robb out of his thoughts. “What time did you have to be at the train station?” She had taken off one of her gloves and was admiring the way her engagement ring glinted in the weak January light.  
  
“Two-thirty, I think. We’ve got plenty of time.” Robb had been volunteered to pick up Mya’s mother from the train station when Theon had declared he was too busy with whatever vague planning such a shoddy wedding would need. Privately, he thought Theon was terrified of coming face to face with Mya’s mother again, but before he could put voice to that thought he’d had to allay Mya’s fears over his reputed driving skills. He wasn’t nearly as bad a driver as Theon made him out to be - he just knew driving everywhere was relaxing for Theon. And anyway, he’d only gone off the road four...no, five times. And two of those had been to avoid hitting squirrels. “You’re coming with, right?”  
  
Roslin shrugged, idly braiding the fingers of her gloves together. Robb chewed on the inside of his cheek, trying to arrange his thoughts. Roslin had spent her entire life surrounded by people - she’d always shared a room, always had a gaggle of siblings around her. Moving from her father’s home to an equally crowded dormitory, for her, had been like taking off one pair of well-worn shoes and slipping on another. Ever since Mya had started spending nearly all her free time with Theon, Roslin had confessed to Robb that she’d felt left behind. She looked at Mya as the sister she’d chosen to have rather than the ones she’d had no say in, and the rate at which everything was changing had caught her off guard. She was looking away from him now when she spoke. “I don’t know. I’ve got a lot of things to do back at the dorm, y’know...”  
  
“That’s applesauce and you know it.” Keeping one eye on the slushy road before him, Robb reached over and wrapped his fingers around Roslin’s. “You don’t have to go back to class till the last week of January and you’ve got nothing going on right now. C’mon and come with us. God knows I’ll need a buffer between Mya and her mother.” When she didn’t look convinced, Robb lifted her hand to his lips, nibbling at her cold fingers. “Please? Cut me some slack here, sweetheart, with the roads like this it’ll be at least a 45-minute drive back to the house from the train station and it’ll be pure torture with just the two of them. You know I like you better than Mya and her ma.”  
  
This brought a small smile to Roslin’s face. “You’ve never met her ma.”  
  
“Doesn’t matter. Still don’t like her as much as you.”  
  
“Good to know.” Roslin said with a small huff, and Robb knew he had her. “Y’know what I was thinking about last night while I was trying to sleep?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“That Mya’s going to be huge at our wedding, simply enormous.” Robb didn’t miss the slight satisfaction in her voice. “She’s going to look like an Easter egg in her bridesmaid’s dress.”  
  
Robb still couldn’t comprehend Roslin’s choice of pink and yellow as colors for their wedding, and was still trying to figure out how to tell Theon and Jon they’d have to wear pink bow ties for the event. Maybe she should tell them. _Neither of them would hit a girl, but I’m fair game_.  
  
By the time Robb gathered up Mya and slid to a stop in a parking spot close to the train station, it was two twenty-five and from the look on Mya’s face, she was five-and-a-half feet of anxiety. “Your ma does know everything, right?” Roslin had turned to look at her roommate, chin resting on the back of the seat. “The whole kit ‘n’ kaboodle?”  
  
Mya nodded a bit stiffly as she exited the car. “She gave Theon a good tongue-lashing the other night.”  
  
“Good.” Roslin tucked her hand into Robb’s coat pocket, a small cold fist against his palm. The inside of the train station was warm, thank God, and largely empty save for a few businessmen hurrying to catch a cab or a connecting train. Robb scanned the meager crowd, suddenly aware that he had no idea what Mya’s mother looked like.  
  
Next to Roslin, Mya gave a little start and waved. “Mama!”   
  
Across the station, Robb saw a figure separate from the crowd and start towards them. As she grew closer Robb fought to keep surprise off his face. Alyce Stone was nothing like what he’d imagined. In his mind’s eye he’d always carried the image of a slightly dumpy, unkempt woman with mousy hair and eyes. In reality, she reminded him of the old Gibson girl sketches he remembered as a boy - her face was rounder than her daughter’s, more heart-shaped where Mya’s was long, her form pleasantly plump. She had a large, loose knot of blond hair pinned up, a few wispy strands escaping and framing her brown eyes. _She’s so young_ , Robb realized with a jolt. Alyce and Mya looked as though they could be siblings rather than mother and daughter. He’d gotten the impression that Alyce had been young when Mya had been born but not _that_ young. S _he can’t even be forty yet_.  
  
Alyce set her worn bag on the ground at her feet and greeted them with a slightly weary smile. She hugged her daughter, and Robb didn’t miss the slightly resigned look that crossed Mya’s face. “How’s my little harlot?” Alyce asked, pulling away from her daughter.  
  
Roslin snorted as Mya’s cheeks blazed. “Ma, stop that!”  
  
“What’s this ‘Ma’ nonsense? You sound like  a dyspeptic goat. Now.” Alyce’s eyes moved over Robb and Roslin as she adjusted her thick overcoat. “These are your friends, I take it?”  
  
“Right.” Slightly flustered, Mya introduced them. “Theon sends his apologies. He had some...business to attend to.”  
  
“Of course he did.” Alyce sniffed, and Mya rolled her eyes.  
  
“You liked him at Thanksgiving, remember.”  
  
“That was before he’d stolen your virtue!” Alyce snapped back. “Or at least before I knew about it.”  
  
“He did not steal anything.” Mya retorted, and Roslin and Robb’s heads bobbed back and forth, as if they were watching a particularly interesting tennis match. “You’re making it sound like I’d hop into bed with anything that moved!”  
  
Robb was torn between being horribly uncomfortable and vastly amused by this conversation but judging by the expression on Roslin’s face, she was on the verge of laughing. Alyce adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and stood a little straighter. “I seem to remember a certain boy back home that you very nearly _did_ hop into bed with. In fact, if I hadn’t come home when I did-”  
  
“ _Mama_!” Mya’s cheeks were glowing now as people passing were starting to stare, and Robb felt Roslin’s elbow dig into his side. He stepped forward, clearing his throat.  
  
“Why don’t we head home? Miss Stone, let me take your bag. I’ve got the car right outside.”  
  
Once Mya and Roslin had been bustled safely in the back seat and Alyce in the front, Robb carefully maneuvered through the parking lot. The drive home was mercifully smooth; Alyce and Roslin started planning the most minute details of Theon and Mya’s wedding, with Mya feebly and futilely trying to break in every so often and remind them that this was to be a small affair, not a national event like Robb and Roslin’s.  
  
Eventually Robb slid to a halt in front of Riverrun, hopping out and offering Alyce a hand down, then Mya, and finally Roslin. “My mother’s expecting you, and she’ll have tea and coffee ready.” Robb said as he dropped Alyce’s bag on the front porch. “I’d love to stay and discuss the differences between Duchess satin wedding dresses and taffeta, but I’ve got to get back to work for a bit. It was nice to finally meet you, Miss Stone.” Dropping a kiss on Roslin’s cheek, he hurried back to the car and puttered back down the curving drive.  
  
He was surprised to see Theon actually at his desk when he returned, chewing on his bottom lip and staring at a sheaf of papers. His eyes weren’t moving though, and he didn’t even jump when Robb threw himself into his desk chair. “Mya does that, y’know.”  
  
“Huh?” Theon finally jerked out of his thoughts. “Does what?”  
  
“Bites her lip like that.” Robb grinned smugly as Theon scowled. “I thought it usually took years for a couple to pick up their partner’s quirks.”  
  
“You picked up Roslin’s quirk of being a pain in my ass pretty quick.” Theon muttered. Tossing the papers back on his desk, he stood. “Don’t get too comfortable, we’ve got a house call to make.”  
  
Robb had been halfway through shrugging off his coat and paused. “We do?”  
  
“Mmhm. Garlan Tyrell called not half an hour ago, said he found something in his father’s study. Might give some insight on where the old man was the night he disappeared.” Theon was already fishing for his car keys, and Robb didn’t miss the slight hesitation before the last word. He knew Theon thought Mace Tyrell was dead, same as him, and he wondered why he hadn’t just said ‘died’. _Maybe he’s trying to be optimistic_. “He’s waiting for us at his parents’ estate.”  
  
“No rest for the weary, I suppose.” Robb followed him out of the stationhouse. “Your mother-in-law says hello, by the way.”  
  
Theon just grunted. “She didn’t miss her train, then.”  
  
“Sorry to disappoint.” Robb looked at him closely. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet.”  
  
“Nah, nothin’ like that. She just put this idea in Mya’s head that we should...abstain until after the wedding. And you know Mya, she wants to keep everyone happy, so she caved like a house of cards.”  
  
Robb clapped a hand on Theon’s shoulder, privately amused at how crabby his friend got if he had to go more than a day or two without sex. “Don’t worry, pal. You remember when Rosie had the flu and stayed locked in her dorm for a week?”  
  
“What about it?”  
  
Robb was grinning as he pulled open the passenger side door of the Rolls. “Let me just say that the heart isn’t the only thing absence makes fonder.”  
  
Theon snorted and flicked the ignition. “I don’t wanna think about you and Rosie goin’ at it.” He pulled a folded up piece of paper from his inner jacket pocket and tossed it at Robb. “Here, navigate. I’ve never been to the Tyrell’s place before.”  
  
It turned out to be easy to find the sprawling Tyrell estate, and both Robb and Theon leaned forward in the Rolls’ seat to get a better look at it once Theon had rolled to a stop. It made Riverrun look like a shack in the woods. The main house was done in a Tudor style, heaps of brick and leaded glass that in the spring and summer would be crawling with ivy and flowers. Now in the dead of winter it glittered and sparkled, the windows reflecting the bright sunlight and the pine trees dressed in flawless blankets of crystalline snow. Evergreen wreaths hung on the front doors, twined with silver and white ribbon and speckled with red holly berries, and curls of smoke emerged from no less than half a dozen chimneys all around the mansion.  
  
  
Theon had pulled the Rolls along the cobblestone driveway and parked beside an elaborate fountain, turned off for the winter and dripping with icicles. As Robb climbed out of the he turned the collar of his coat up. “So he didn’t say what he’d found?”  
  
Theon shook his head, running a tender hand over the car’s still-warm hood. “Only that it wasn’t much, so it’s probably nothing at all. But it can’t hurt to look. Last thing I want is another cold case.”  
  
 _You and me both_ , Robb thought as they climbed the steps. Even the thought of their search for Vargo Hoat, their last cold case, still made him feel vaguely sick to his stomach, like he’d eaten an apple a week past ripe. _It’s over. It’s done. Forget about it, now_.  
  
Theon glanced at Robb as they stood before a massive oak door, and lifted the wrought-iron knocker. It clanged dully against the matching rose on the door, and Robb shivered. There was nothing to break the bitter January wind out here, the trees barren. They stood there for what felt like an hour, and Robb was just about to bolt back to the relative warmth of the car when the door creaked open.   
  
“Oh, hello.” A short, stout woman with a round face was peeking around the door. She carried a thick brogue when she spoke, and Robb had to pay close attention to what she was saying. “Can I help you?”  
  
“Sure can.” Robb answered before Theon could snap at the poor woman, and pulled out his badge. “We’re here to see Garlan Tyrell, if he’s available.”  
  
“Oh, of course!” The woman stepped back, opening the door wider and waving them in. She wore a servant’s uniform, Robb saw, and judging by the swipe of flour across her broad chest, had come up from whatever kitchen resided in the bowels of such a place.  Shutting the door behind them, she patted her greying hair. “Let me take your coats, and you’ll have to forgive me for the wait. The butler’s out with the shingles and, oh heavens.” She laughed a bit breathlessly, standing on her tiptoes to drape their coats on hooks on the wall. “Listen to me, goin’ on. Go on and wait in the study if you will, I’ll send young Garlan along. Would you care for some coffee, tea? I’ve got a butter cake fresh out of the oven.”  
  
“That sounds wonderful.” Robb smiled at the woman over his shoulder, giving Theon a sharp elbow to the ribs.  
  
“Sure does.” Theon glared at Robb, rubbing his side. “Sounds fantastic.”  
  
The cook bustled off, her footsteps fading quickly, and Robb looked around the study. It was...cozy, he realized. Not nearly as cold and imposing as he’d thought it would be. A fire was crackling in a fireplace big enough for him to stand up in, and the walls were lined with crowded bookshelves, bowing with hundreds of leather-bound volumes. It was someplace Robb immediately felt comfortable and someplace he could easily imagine the whole Tyrell clan gathered in here on blustery winter days much like today, roasting chestnuts or listening to Mace read from one of those books.   
  
From what they’d gathered on the case so far, Robb knew the Tyrells were a close-knit clan, one that reminded him of his own family before his father’s death. _You at least know what happened to your father. You saw him in his casket, and you saw him go into the ground. These people probably won’t get that_. Robb shut his eyes for a moment, trying to block out the memory of his father’s funeral, a hot, sticky day where summer had waged one last battle. Sansa had flinched at the 21-gun salute, her hand flying to Robb’s, and he’d squeezed it so hard.  
  
Next to him, Theon sat on the edge of an overstuffed leather couch. He looked lost in thought, idly rubbing the scar just under his collarbone. Part of Robb wanted to ask what he was so absorbed in, but if Theon didn’t want to talk, Theon wouldn’t talk. He had a rough idea, anyway. He’d seen the way Theon’s jaw had tightened when they’d run into Garlan Tyrell and Mya the other day. It amused Robb to think that Theon could actually be jealous of someone, much less Garlan, but he wasn’t about to dig into that. Not yet, anyway.   
  
Outside the study, light footsteps approached and both men stood as a slim, petite woman entered, tray precariously balanced in one hand and a chubby toddler on her other hip. She was young, Robb realized, only a few years older than himself, and pretty. Her eyes were bright and green, reminding him of nothing so much as new spring grass, and her light brown hair was pulled back out of her face. “Mrs. Granger said you were waiting, I’m so sorry about that. I’m Garlan’s wife. You can call me Leo.”   
  
“Pleasure to meet you.” Robb smiled easily and took the tray before it tipped. “I’m Detective Stark, and this is Detective Greyjoy.” When Theon didn’t react, he jabbed the heel of his shoe into Theon’s foot, and his friend started.  
  
“Right. Nice to meet you.” Theon said curtly, and Robb groaned internally. He wasn’t really in the mood to play Good Cop Bad Cop.  
  
If Leo noticed Theon’s moodiness she didn’t say anything, instead putting the little girl on her hip on the floor. The girl was the spitting image of her mother, save for her warm brown eyes, and she clung to her mother’s woolen trousers. Leo knelt and gently pried the girl’s hands out of the fabric, casting an apologetic smile up at Robb and Theon. “Luci, sweetheart, be good and let go of Mama, alright? There’s a piece of butter cake in it for you.”  
  
Robb knelt and held his hand out to the girl, still smiling. Her shyness reminded him of Bran when he was that age and still clung to their mother. “Hi Luci, I’m Robb.  I’m here to talk with your pops a little, but I’d sure love it if you came and sat with me until he gets here, alright?”  
  
The little girl bit her lip and buried her face against her mother’s side, but after a minute she pried herself away and clambered over to the couch where Theon had sat. Robb chuckled as her pudgy fingers gripped the cushions, and he gave her a boost up. “There’s a girl. Now-” before he could say more she’d squirrelled into Theon’s lap. Theon’s face contorted in confusion, and he looked at Robb, clearly unsure what to do with the girl curling up against his chest.  
  
Robb burst out laughing, and Theon’s confusion changed to a dark scowl. “What’m I supposed to do with this?” He hissed as Leo started cutting a delicious-looking cake and pouring coffee.  
  
“Get used to it, I’d say. Thank you, Leo.” Robb grinned and took a proffered plate, digging in with relish. “This is fantastic.”  
  
Leo smiled warmly, and glanced behind her as more footsteps approached. “That’ll be my husband.” Sure enough, Garlan strode into the room, smiling apologetically.  
  
“Sorry I’m running a little late - got caught up in a phone conversation with my brother.” His smile grew as he took in the sight of his daughter, now playing with Theon’s tie. “Look like a natural there, Greyjoy.” Robb snorted as Theon managed a terse smile. “Luci, go on with Mama now. Daddy’s got some grown-up talking he has to do.”  
  
The girl pouted, but slid off of Theon’s lap and toddled towards her mother. Garlan planted a kiss first on her cheek, then Leo’s, and Robb nodded a farewell at them. Once they’d left Garlan shut the door to the study and took a seat across from them, his expression somber. “Thanks for coming out - I know how busy you both are.”  
  
“Just part of the job.” Robb replied easily. “Now, my partner here said you had something for us?”  
  
“Right.” Garlan reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled, worn scrap of paper. “Found it in my father’s office down at the Lantern, half-stuck under his desk.”  
  
Robb glanced over at Theon as Garlan spread the scrap on the coffee table between them. His eyebrows were knit together, and the corners of his mouth were tightened somewhat. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Robb couldn’t put his finger on why. He kept his mouth shut though, and pulled the scrap towards him.   
  
It wasn’t big, no more than three or four inches across, and lined. It looked like any scrap of paper out of any given day planner, just like the neglected one Robb had stuffed in one of his own desk drawers. The writing on it was only partially legible, heavy strokes in a rich, blue ink. Robb squinted, trying to work out what it said. He pushed his half-eaten slice of butter cake aside, his mind clicking over to what Rosie referred to as his ‘Detective Brain’. She thought it was sexy, unless he was using it to figure out what she’d gotten him for his birthday or Christmas. _Enough of that now_ , Robb told himself sternly. _You’ll see her tonight. Now you have to focus. Down to the millimeters, Stark._  
  
 _9-30_. The last day anyone had seen Mace alive. Robb had gone over the case just this morning before his doctor’s appointment. Mace’s secretary, as well as his Loras and Margaery, had all reported saying goodnight to Mace around 6:30 that night. He’d told them he was going to be a little late, that he was working on a hot story, and could they please give his regrets to their mother?  
  
Robb’s breath caught suddenly, and he cleared his throat. _Dad said he was working late too, that he’d just catch dinner with Bob that night. Mother was disappointed...she hated when he’d miss dinner, and he hated it too. Especially when Jeynie made roast chicken...she hasn’t made it since_. Next to him on the couch Theon shifted, dragging Robb out of the worst night of his life and back into the present. He scrubbed a hand over his face and squinted at the paper. Under the date it was a little harder to read, heavily smudged.  
  
 _-eyjo_ , then a thick smear, then - _ck 12_ -, another smear, and finally _10:30_. And that was it.  
  
The cake suddenly settled heavy in Robb’s stomach, brick-like, and for a moment he wondered if it was going to pull him down through the floor. He hazarded a glance at Theon, but his best friend’s face betrayed no emotion. His grey eyes were locked on the piece of paper, and in the silence of the room Robb thought he heard him swallow, a tiny click in his throat. Robb straightened, trying to keep his tone professional. Garlan was gazing back at them, his brown eyes flicking back and forth and Robb realized with a jolt that his thoughts and Robb’s were identical, and they couldn’t give voice to them right now. _Well shit_.  
  
“Was there anything else?” Theon spoke, his own voice carefully neutral, and Robb felt a coil of dread in his gut.  
  
“No.” Garlan shook his head. “Do you think that’ll be helpful?”  
  
Wishing he could say no, Robb forced himself to nod and stood. “Every little bit helps. We’ll take this back to the station and see what we can find. We’ll be in touch.”  
  
Theon stood abruptly, fishing in his pockets for his keys. “We’re done here. I’ve gotta go start the car. It’s touchy in the cold like this.” Without another word he stalked out of the room, and presently Robb heard the front door open and close. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. _If anything that car runs better in the cold. He’s going to leave you here, Robbo_.   
  
“Listen, Robb.” Garlan looked pained. “I know Greyjoy’s like a brother to you. Everyone knows that.”  
  
“Yeah.” Robb’s tone was tight.   
  
“He didn’t do this, that much is obvious.” Garlan replied. “But do you know of any other name you could get from that note? And his family...”  
  
“I know who his family is.” Robb shook his head, trying to take the bite out of his words. “I’m sorry, Garlan, it’s just...this just got messy.”  
  
“I know.” Garlan clapped a gentle hand on Robb’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I really am. He seems like a good guy.”  
  
Suddenly Robb just wanted to be out of there, away from the sympathy and pity. He squared his shoulders and nodded once, brusquely. “Like I said, we’ll be in touch.”  
  
The drive back to the stationhouse was silent as the grave. Theon kept his eyes on the road ahead of him, his jaw set in a way that told Robb he’d be a fool to try and start some light-hearted conversation now. The rest of the afternoon wasn’t much better, but he was able to keep his thoughts away from the scrap of paper until after dinner.   
  
Roslin had spent the afternoon with the womenfolk at Riverrun, and after dinner while Robb lounged on a chaise in the basement at Riverrun, she, Arya, and Rickon were playing an odd three-way game of pool on the billiards table. He was only half-paying attention to it, and their noisy laughter, instead finally letting his mind dwell on the afternoon, and it was giving him a headache.  
  
Robb wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t blind. He knew there was a reason Theon always seemed to have a stash of booze on him, and that there was a reason he’d vanish some nights. He might’ve tried to hide it, but Robb had seen him head out and not return until midnight or later some nights. He’d asked him about it once, a year or so ago. Theon had just smirked and said he’d gotten a late-night invitation from one of his lady friends. It had made sense to Robb, so that time he’d dropped it. _But it was week after week. Theon was never under any of those girls’ thumbs that much, not until Mya at least, and sometimes he’d come back with a black eye or fat lip. It’s just booze though. It’s never hurt anyone, not really_. It made Robb feel sick though, to even think on it. Theon was better than that, he’d thought. He’d hoped, really hoped that having an influence like his father around would be enough to wash the criminal out of Theon’s blood.   
  
_Criminal. Listen to yourself. He was a boy when he came here and hadn’t done anything worse than picking a fight or two at school, and he’s still not doing anything that bad, even if he is running booze. How many times have you taken a snort off his goods_? Robb shifted on the chaise, giving a half-hearted cheer as Rickon made a trick shot, jumping the four ball over the eight and sinking it in the corner pocket. _If he’s capable of running booze and not batting an eye, what else is he capable of_?  
  
 _No, no_. That wasn’t a road Robb was prepared to go down, not yet. It felt like a betrayal to the years he’d spent with Theon, to the strong, beyond-fraternal bond they’d forged. _His family’s dirty. He’s not. He’d never kill a man, not in cold blood._  
  
 _Not like you_.  
  
“Robb, didya see?” Rickon’s piping voice burst through his increasingly dark thoughts, and he blinked.  
  
“What was that, Champ?”  
  
“I won! I beat Arya and Roslin! I whupped ‘em!” Rickon’s eyes were bright as he danced around the table, and Arya stuck her tongue out at her littlest brother.  
  
“We _let_ you win.” Arya grumbled, but Rickon didn’t hear her.  
  
Roslin did though, and snorted. “ _I_ didn’t let him win. Robbie, baby, your little brother’s a regular pool shark.”  
  
Robb forced a smile and stood, catching Rickon and swinging the boy over his shoulders before setting him down. “Alright you two, it’s past your bedtime. Go upstairs, now, and Arya, help him get ready for bed.”  
  
“Why can’t Sansa do that?”  
  
“Because I’m asking you.” Robb gave Arya a look that was half-stern, half-amused, and after heaving an enormous sigh, Arya took Rickon by the hand and pulled him up the stairs. “Thank you,” he called after.  
  
“Get bent,” came Arya’s reply, and Roslin laughed as she wrapped her arms around Robb’s waist.  
  
The warm feel of her against him helped to settle Robb’s tumultuous mind somewhat, and he pulled her closer. Once he heard the basement door shut above them, he tugged her down onto the chaise with him, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her soft cinnamon scent. Roslin squirmed on top of him in a pleasantly distracting way, and Robb felt some of the tension draining out of his neck and shoulders. “Thank you for letting him win. He’s a bear when he loses at something.”  
  
Roslin chuckled. She was fiercely competitive as well, but she’d also been around Robb’s family long enough to know when to throw a game to save the peace, and to spare everyone one of Rickon’s tantrums. Planting a kiss on his chin, she toyed with his hair. “What’s up with you tonight? You seem distracted.”  
  
“‘course I’m distracted, with you wiggling around like you are.” Robb’s smile still felt forced, and Roslin gave him a look.  
  
“That’s not what I meant. You’ve been out of sorts since you got home. Is something wrong? Are you feeling ok?” Rosie planted a soft palm on his forehead. “You don’t feel warm.”  
  
“I’m fine, sweetheart, honestly.” Robb caught her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Just a case at work. It’s...complicated.”  
  
“Oh...” Roslin let her head fall back to his shoulder, tucking under his chin. “D’you wanna talk about it?”  
  
“No.” Robb answered quickly. “No, it’s...it’s work, and I don’t want to bring work home. Tell me what you did today instead.” Still on break between semesters, Roslin had gone into full-blown wedding mode, and Robb was only too glad for the distraction tonight.  
  
Roslin sat up, straddling his hips. “I got a list of bakeries we need to try for cakes, but you’re not allowed to have more than a bite of each because you’ve got to get measured for your tux, and I don’t want you getting plump and I’ve narrowed down the flower list but I still don’t know if we should go with peonies or ranunculuses, but I was also thinking maybe sweet William because of the pink, and it’d go with the bridesmaid’s dresses and _also_ your mother and Alyce and Mya and I were talking about how we’re going to redecorate our room for after the wedding.”  
  
This last bit brought Robb up short. “We’re going to what?”  
  
Roslin shot him a look. “We’re _redecorating_. Honestly, Robbie, you don’t expect us to cram into your twin bed, do you? And the curtains in there are _ancient_. Honestly, they’re older than God Himself.”  
  
“Well, I do like being close to you.” As if to prove the point, Robb’s hands slipped under her heavy woolen skirt, tracing the tops of her stockings. As usual Roslin was able to read his intentions like a book and smiled coyly, shifting just enough to allow him to work her panties off. Robb knew it was a risk, that one of his siblings could come down the stairs at any minute even though he’d just sent them to bed, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. After the day he’d had he needed to relax and cast his mind somewhere far from Theon and the Tyrells, and his Rosie had always been good at helping him do that.  
  
“And so do I, but be reasonable.” Roslin leaned down, her hips sliding against him that made Robb see stars. “There’s a lot of furniture in storage, and your mother said we can use any of it we want. We get to turn that into _our_ room, not just the one you shared with Jon and Theon.” Her lips brushed his, just a tease, leaving him wanting more. “But we can talk about that later.”  
  
He craned his neck upwards, kissing her as his hands slid over her rear. Roslin deftly undid his fly, drawing a slight groan from him. She purred against his lips and slid a hand into his pocket, fishing out his wallet where she knew he had a few rubbers tucked away. In the far back of his mind Robb was tempted to chuck the thing across the room and just have her, with nothing between them, but she’d never let him. _She wants to do this right. Well, as right as we can_. So Robb bit back his sigh and let her work a rubber over him, letting himself enjoy her touch, as familiar as his own. He held her hips as she slid onto him, drinking in the sight of her, head dropped back in pleasure. Robb arched up into her, grinning sharply at the small cry she gave, and pinched her rear.  
  
“Keep it down, will ya? The last thing we need is my ma barging in.”  
  
Roslin jumped at the pinch, and Robb had to bite down on the inside of his cheek. She shot him a look, but leaned down to kiss him anyway. She tasted sweet and soft, and her body was like silk around him. Roslin undid his shirt, pushing it aside just far enough for her to feather a kiss over his healed gunshot wound. Robb closed his eyes and tunneled a hand in her hair, letting her fill his senses. As much as he tried though, he couldn’t completely banish .the sight of that torn, smudged note from his mind.


	8. Time to Think

It was a shitty night to be out, with a heavy snow creating drifts across the roads and no moon to speak of to provide any extra light, but Theon was used to being out on shitty nights. Anyway, he could use the money, not to mention the time to think; between Mya’s pregnancy, their upcoming nuptials, and the mess with the Tyrells, he could use a little time alone to think things through.  
  
“That’s the last crate, but your sister’s got a special package for you in the back.” Lefty Codd’s nasal whine broke through the fog of his thoughts, and Theon blinked, caught off-guard.  
  
“A special...right, gotcha.” He didn’t bother asking Lefty, just went in and made for Asha’s office...the idiot wouldn’t know anything anyway, so it wasn’t worth the breath.   
  
The special package turned out to be a nicely wrapped bottle of champagne that Euron wanted hand-delivered to some woman out on the far side of town. He raised an eyebrow at Asha when she told him, but her lazy shrug didn’t enlighten him any...not that he really cared, one way or the other.  
  
 _A special pain in my ass is what it is..._ Theon had no other deliveries that far out tonight, and it would mean an extra-long drive back home, with no corresponding payment to make up for it. _Probably not even a goddamn tip_.  
  
His first delivery was just down the street and around the corner on Pickard, but when he made the turn, a single, nondescript Packard sedan parked across the way gave him pause. It was running with the headlamps off, and the lit cigar in the driver’s mouth did little to illuminate his face. The back of his neck prickling uncomfortably, he drove on past the car and club at a sedate pace. Theon vaguely remembered Brynden Tully mentioning that there were feds in town looking to make a name for themselves with some busts, and he wasn’t about to let them make their name by busting _him_ , thank you very much.  
  
The situation put a bad taste in his mouth, but he didn’t have all night, so he checked the next stop on his list. It was a small speakeasy called Leo’s located below one of Kingsport’s newer fine dining establishments, The Savoy, and it was a royal pain to deliver to. However, the management was serious about gaining business, and so they bought heavily and tipped generously. Theon also had an acquaintance there, the barkeeper Joe, who was always good for a bet or two.   
  
The kitchen door in back was thick oak, and there were times Theon’d had to set a box down and bang on it until someone finally came and let him in. Tonight, however, it was open; they were waiting for him.  
  
“Got some turnips for ya,” he told the tuxedoed man at the door, jerking his head at the trunk of the car. “Can you spare a boy or two?”  
  
As he’d expected, they could spare just about anything he asked for, including not two, but three, waiters to carry the crates through the walk-in icebox and downstairs. The door to the speakeasy was hidden behind a thick black curtain, boxes hemming it in on all sides. Theon knew there was another entrance down the street, one more suited to the upscale clientele who frequented the joint. He’d never been in that way before, and as he followed the waiters across the club, he eyed the patrons in their evening wear.  
  
 _I should bring Mya here some time, in that one red dress she’s got..._ He let his thoughts linger on his soon-to-be wife, and couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the way he’d left her.   
  
“Do you _have_ to go tonight? It’s getting nasty out.” She’d been curled up in a nest of blankets on the sofa with _Great Expectations_ , and he’d been so tempted to crawl under those blankets with her when he saw the way his pajama top slipped down over her shoulder. The coy smile she gave him didn’t help matters much, but he knew Asha’d have his head if he didn’t get his deliveries done. Besides, it wasn’t as if she were going to let him...  
  
 _Don’t even think about it_ , Theon cautioned himself, nodding in greeting at Joe, who was pouring drinks behind the bar. It seemed like there were plenty of things he found himself not thinking about lately. Like Mya’s mother, ensconced up at the big house, giving him the evil eye every time she saw him. Or that visit with Garlan Tyrell. Theon clenched his jaw. _God damn it, now is not the time, Greyjoy. Pull your head outta your ass and focus_.  
  
He wasn’t too concerned about this place, but if he went in to the next few joints with his head in the clouds, they could cheat him out of some sugar, or worse. Although there couldn’t be anything much worse than going back to Asha with less than he was supposed to. Theon trusted his sister, but he knew the money didn’t stop on her desk, and he had no illusions about what his uncle Euron would do if he thought someone was cheating him.  
  
He put a few bills down on his future brother-in-law’s next fight with Joe the bartender while he was waiting for his packet of cash. If Gendry came out on top, he’d split the take with him, Theon decided. He knew the kid was hard up for cash, and he hadn’t had the time or inclination to talk to Catelyn Stark about him working on the Caddy yet. _It won’t be much, but it oughta help with those medical bills a little bit, anyway_.   
  
His thoughts were interrupted by a man at his shoulder, a maitre’d by the cut of his tux. “Here you are, sir. Now, if there’s nothing else...?” Even if Theon hadn’t been able to see the condescending look the man gave him, the contempt in his voice was plain to hear. It was an all-too familiar tone; no matter what words were spoken, all Theon heard was: _Thug. Scum. Greyjoy_. It pissed him off, even though it was hardly the first time, nor would it be the last.  
  
“Actually, there is. Gimme a double, Joe.” He hadn’t planned on having a drink, but when he saw the look on the maitre d's face, he thought about ordering another. The hooch went down rough, nothing like the aged Scotch Robb had locked away back at Riverrun, but the warmth it brought to his belly was welcome, as was the way it fuzzed his thoughts, smudged them at the edges. He considered taking the money out and counting it right there at the bar, but he knew he’d hear about it later if he did. “Damn, where’d you get that shit?” He asked Joe with a crooked smirk, pointedly ignoring the man still standing at his elbow. “Tastes like furniture polish mixed with kerosene.” The stuff did taste horrible, and Theon was secretly pleased that Asha sent these snobs the worst stuff she had and kept the best back for the family.  
  
Much as he would’ve liked to have stayed and had a few more out of spite, Theon knew the sooner he got going, the sooner he’d be done and home. As he made his way back up the stairs and through the freezer, he idly wondered if there were any places that sold flowers still open, and if so, if a bouquet would convince Mya to drop her panties.  
  
A quick scan of the storefronts on his way down 15th St. confirmed what he’d suspected; everything was closed except for restaurants and clubs, even the ice cream parlor.   
  
_Ah well, it was just an idea. Or what about you tell her how you bet on Gendry and that you’ll split the winnings with him...maybe that’ll sweeten her up_.   
  
But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t likely. When Mya had her mind set on something, there was no use trying to change it. Rather than let his thoughts linger on what he couldn’t have, Theon mentally calculated what their take would be if Gendry won his fight. It came out to about 85 dollars each, a not-inconsiderable sum. Theon’s half would go to baby supplies, he supposed, and to his intense surprise, the thought didn’t make him grit his teeth in anger.   
  
He spent a pleasant few minutes imagining how he’d spend his cash if he were Gendry, a young, single man with no ties, until he remembered the poor kid’s current dire financial straits. His dead ma’s medical bills had nearly wiped him out, Mya had said. As someone who had recently spent quite a bit of time in Kingsport’s brand-new hospital, Theon knew just how quick those bills could add up. Not that he’d paid for any of that, of course; the Starks had taken care of things, just like they always did, but still...  
  
There was an accident a block down on Banfield, so he took a left at the next intersection and went the long way around. The extra distance offered him more time to think, and Theon found his thoughts turning in an unexpected direction - out of Kingsport altogether, and down the long gravel drive of Bitterbridge, his mother’s home for the past ten years. He did his damndest to avoid thinking about her all alone out there, especially after his last visit, over six years ago.   
  
_You should’ve known she was gonna ask..._ For a day or two after the call to her own mother, Mya had seemed...distracted, but Theon had dismissed it as simply nerves. So when she’d interrupted his story about the man who had exposed himself to the Junior League ladies having tea and said, “Don’t you think you should call your mother and let her know about the wedding? It is coming up soon, after all...”  
  
He’d tapped the tip of her nose and told her he’d already called, and his mother was thrilled, but far too unwell to attend. That, at least, had been true...to an extent. Alannys Greyjoy hadn’t been well for some time, either physically or mentally. Or so Theon assumed. He hadn’t seen her in years, and just the thought of her sitting in that snug room up at Bitterbridge all alone was enough to make his stomach twist uncomfortably.   
  
When he was small, before the name Stark was anything to him besides a boogeyman, he’d thought his mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. She had long white-blonde hair that tangled in the wind that whipped across Pyke and a serene smile that never quite became a grin. Neither of her children had inherited her looks in the least, the Greyjoy blood was just too strong. It was strange...to think of his mother, to _remember_ her now, but Theon supposed it was because he’d been thinking about Gendry and his mother and all their medical bills.  
  
 _Speaking of that, just who the fuck is paying for Ma’s cozy little stay at Bitterbridge_? The question had never occurred to him before, but now that it had, he was intensely curious. Asha seemed most likely, but he hadn’t thought she had that kind of scratch, not to mention their mother had been placed there long before her daughter had started running her own club and three quarters of the bootlegging business in town.  
  
His uncle Rodrik, his mother’s older brother? Theon considered that a moment, but according to Asha the Harlaws lived in a sort of shabby, genteel poverty. He knew Euron had thrown some business their way, but Rodrik was a bit more straight-laced than the Greyjoys... ‘squeamish’, his uncle Vic called it. But even Vic had to admit Rodrik was a good man; maybe he’d bankrupted himself to care for his little sister...  
  
 _Or maybe Ma had money left over from Dad_? But, no, the will had been perfectly clear - everything had gone to Balon’s younger brothers, right down to the lines on his boat. Everything except his signet ring, which he’d given to Asha. Nothing had been left to Theon. A cold decision from a cold man. Not long after, Ned Stark had bought Theon a gold wristwatch, a Rolex straight from Switzerland, with his initials engraved on the back. The watch was still in its box, tucked away in his nightstand. Once he’d come close to throwing it into the bay, but that just seemed wasteful...it was a damn fine watch, after all.  
  
If all the money had been left to the brothers, it was a certainty that Euron was the one controlling that money now. Which meant that, as far as Theon could figure it, Euron was the one who had set his older brother’s widow up in relative comfort at Bitterbridge. _It’s gotta be comfortable compared to the old shitheap on Pyke, that’s for sure_. Mya hadn’t told him much about her forced seclusion on the island, but from what she had said, it was just as cold and drafty as always. Theon had no way of knowing, short of asking, whose idea it had been to put Alannys away, but whoever had suggested it, it was clear that Euron had taken care of it.  
  
“Fuck!” Theon slammed on the brakes, but he’d already missed his turn. The club’s lights shone in his rearview mirror, far more conspicuous than the Savoy. He hadn’t been delivering here long; the place had formerly been supplied by one of Roslin Frey’s countless uncles or brothers or cousins, though she hadn’t seemed to appreciate him bringing it up a few weekends back. Theon hadn’t been involved in the takeover efforts, but from what Asha told him, Vic, Qarl and a few others had made it very simple for the Freys: Hand it over, or face Euron’s wrath. It’d made no difference that Euron hadn’t even been on the same continent at the time.  
  
A few burly men were waiting outside the back door for him at this joint, and Theon merely watched from a side mirror as they unloaded the crates marked for them. It was quick work, and soon he was on his way. The rest of his route was familiar, and he found himself distracted again, mind wandering between Mya’s recent visit to the station house with Garlan Tyrell, and his and Robb’s later visit to the Tyrell estate. _Goddamn Tyrells, I can’t get away from them_! He hated the way Mya came over all flushed around Garlan, hated the man’s easy grin and friendly air, not to mention his swanky new car...   
  
Theon drummed his fingers irritably on the steering wheel; it wasn’t Garlan Tyrell’s straight, white smile or shiny new Packard that was getting under his skin, and he knew it. It was that scrap of paper Tyrell’d found under his father’s desk. The one that practically screamed his name.   
  
_And it’s not just gonna be your name, soon..._ He could see it all so clearly: a hugely pregnant Mya sitting in the courtroom in a pretty flowered dress while he was convicted, her chin quivering like it always did right before she began to cry, followed by newspaper flashbulbs going off in her face as she fled down the steps of the court building, then, finally, she was boarding a train bound north for Eyrie, a small bundle in her arms.   
  
The images were overwhelming and Theon yanked the wheel recklessly, pulling into an abandoned lot. He threw the car into park and wrenched the window down, the snowy night air filling his lungs and clearing his head. There was no way in hell he was going to let that happen, he _couldn’t_ let that happen, not to her, and not to his baby, swimming away in Mya’s belly.  
  
But what could he do? Kill _Garlan_ Tyrell, and hope he hadn’t shown the note to anyone else? Except Robb already knew about it too, and Theon hadn’t missed the look that had passed between his partner and Tyrell, oh no he hadn’t. With a sigh, Theon started the Rolls back up and pulled back out onto Rose St. It was no use trying to figure it out now, sitting in a cold car in the middle of the night, when he had a nice, warm bed with a beautiful woman waiting in it at home. Just one delivery left.  
  
He looked at the bottle on his passenger seat again, done up neatly in gold and black striped wrapping paper and a gold ribbon. Who the fuck was this broad, to get such special treatment from Euron? The address wasn’t familiar to him, although the neighborhood was ritzy, with long driveways and ostentatious gates that had yet to see a speck of rust. It made him chuckle...the gates at Riverrun were practically overgrown with ivy and rusted from top to bottom, but he’d bet dollars to doughnuts the Tullys and the Starks had more money than these folks out here in their fancy new estates.  
  
Even the address he was looking for, 1221 Waverly Run, was faintly ridiculous, but he found it easily enough. Parking beneath a huge elm that overhung the driveway, Theon scowled at the fresh snow covering the walkway, halfway up his shins now. At Riverrun, Jory would’ve had that taken care of _hours_ ago. From the lack of lights on, it didn’t look like anyone was expecting him, but Theon was used to that; he grabbed the wrapped bottle and made for the back door. He just hoped whoever this lady was, she wouldn’t make him stand out in the cold and knock forever.  
  
Thankfully, there was a light on over the back door, and even as he walked up, a woman with frighteningly red hair stuck her head out and yelled, “Muuuuuuuuuffin! Come on in, baby!” _She’s no Catelyn Stark_ , he thought cattily. She clearly hadn’t seen him yet, so Theon cleared his throat and stepped into the light. “Jesus fucking CHRIST!” The woman dropped the glass she was holding, but stood her ground in the doorway. “Who the hell are you?”  
  
“Nobody,” he said. He wanted to keep his name out of this nouveau riche harpy’s mouth; she looked like the type to blab about every little detail of her boring life to all her boring friends, and that was bad for business...and Theon’s life. “Just delivering a package, is all. Here ya go.” He forced the wrapped bottle into her hands, wishing she’d shut her gaping mouth. He could see she had a gold tooth, way in the back.  
  
“A delivery at this time of night?” She was tearing through the wrapping carelessly, and turned the bottle to read the label. “I-” Theon got his wish...the woman’s mouth snapped shut, allowing him a better viewpoint of her smeared lipstick. “Oh Jesus, no. No, this...I...”  
  
For fuck’s sake, what was this broad’s problem? Theon took a step closer, ignoring the way the woman flinched, and grabbed the bottle back from her. It wasn’t the typical ‘shine that he ran out of Asha’s place, but a bottle of dark red wine with a matte black label. There were no words on the label, just a line-art illustration of a crow embossed in gold ink. The crow’s eye was ruby-red, bright and hungry in the dim overhead light. A thrill of dread ran through him, colder than the wind, and Theon knew that this was no gift.  
  
“What’d you do to piss him off, lady?”  
  
“I...what?” For the first time since she’d laid eyes on him, the woman seemed to really see Theon, and she blanched. “Oh God, you’re one of his men, aren’t you? Please don’t hurt me, I never meant-”  
  
“I’m just delivering the wine, I’m not gonna do anything.” The woman’s dog ran up, a little yapper of the variety that Theon hated.  
  
“Muffin! Oh baby, come here!” She snatched the dog up as if Theon was about to spit it and roast it, giving him a wide-eyed stare. “Tell him I’m sorry, I never meant no harm, I swear it! Falia’s welcome to whatever she-”  
  
“Save it,” he cut her off, handing the wine bottle back. “I’m not your messenger boy.” He had no idea who Falia was, and didn’t much care. It was odd that Euron was taking an interest in someone other than himself, but it was also none of Theon’s business. “And get a goddamn handyman to shovel this walk, why don’t ya?”  
  
Leaving the woman stammering in the doorway, he went back to the Rolls. It was time to go home. In just the few scant minutes he’d been there, the wind and snow had picked up, obscuring the ridiculously named Waverly Run and the main roads beyond. Theon drove carefully, not liking the feel of the tires spinning every time he accelerated. He wondered how long the woman on Waverly Run had to live, and if Mace Tyrell had received such a bottle of wine before his meeting with Theon. He hoped to God not...  
  
 _Wait, let’s say that he did. How would that be bad for you? That bottle's obviously from Euron, and anyone with half a brain would know it_. Theon felt a surge of adrenaline as his mind raced. _Anyway, it was all his doing in the first place...why_ not _blame the whole thing on him?_ “Because he’ll gut you with a smile on his face if you turn on him,” Theon spoke into the silence, answering his own question. _Someone in the family is going down for this, Greyjoy, no doubt. The only question is, is it gonna be you or him?_


	9. In Knots

Mya craned her neck to look up at the glowing white letters running vertically over a rotating door. “Savoy? We’re really going _here_ tonight?” Try as she might, she couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. “I read the review the _Lantern_ did of this place when it first opened and it sounds divine! I didn’t think it was your kind of place, though.”  
  
Next to her Theon chuckled, flicking the ignition. “Don’t get your hopes up _too_ high, kid. We’re going to a place that’s a little more our speed. Well, _my_ speed anyway. C’mon, I could kill for a drink right now.” He tugged her out of the car, and Mya pulled her wrap a little tighter around her shoulders, shivering.  
  
“You didn’t insist I wear my red dress just so you could take me to some hole-in-the-wall dive, did you?” She stepped carefully over a pile of grey slush and propped a hand on her hip.   
  
“Of course not. I insisted you wear that one so I can stare at your tits during dinner.” Theon winked and wrapped an arm around her waist, barely dodging the elbow to the ribs she gave him.  
  
“You can stare at them any time you want. We’re living in sin, remember?” Mya gave him a pert smile and pushed the rotating door. “In fact, you were staring at them when I woke up this morning.”  
  
“Yeah, but doing it in public is even better.” Theon winked, then nodded at the maitre’d. “Table for two, please. Something with a view, if you could.”  
  
Mya blinked - something with a view? Savoy was nice, to be sure. The dining room was intimate and warm with velvet and candelabras everywhere, but the location was the middle of the city - somewhat nondescript. _There_ are _no views here, unless you want to watch the five-and-dime across the street. If it were on the bay, maybe...but what does it matter, it’s dark anyway._  
  
The maitre’d nodded once and stepped out from behind his little podium. “This way, if you please.” He ushered them to a door Mya assumed was the coat check and sure enough, when he pushed it open, it was packed with dark wools and heavy furs. Mya looked up at Theon curiously, and he just gave her a crooked smile.  
  
The maitre’d pushed aside a coat at the end of a brass pole, fumbling around behind it. He jammed his thumb against a knot in the chair rail lining the small room, and Mya jumped a bit as the entire panel swung open, revealing a fairly innocuous staircase. It curved slightly to the right, and was rather dimly lit. From what Mya could see, the walls were made up of the same brick as the exterior of the building, cracked with age. A slight draft wafted up, damp mixed with cigarettes and wet stone.  
  
“Enjoy your evening sir, miss.” Giving a stuffy little bow, the maitre’d left in a cloud of cologne and a faint whiff of mothballs, shutting the coat room door carefully behind him.  
  
“What kind of place is this?” Mya crossed her arms. “You’re not taking me to some blind pig, are you? And be honest. If you are I’m walking home.”  
  
“Relax, would ya?” Theon’s hand was on the small of her back and he was guiding her down the stairs. “It’s not a blind pig. It’s an honest-to-God, top of the line genuine speakeasy this time.”   
  
“A speakeasy?” Mya jerked to a halt on the second step, uneasy. She hadn’t been in a speakeasy before, not unless you counted Asha’s club, and she was suddenly nervous. “But these’ve been getting raided all the time. One over on...what was it, Pickard Street? The feds were on it just the other night. How d’you know they won’t be here tonight?”  
  
Theon was a step below her, eye-level with her. He stopped to face her, resting his hands on her hips. “Even if they do show up, you’ve got nothing to worry about, yeah?” When she didn’t respond, he gave her a mock-wounded look. “What’s this, now? We’re getting married day after tomorrow and you suddenly don’t trust me?”  
  
“I trust you, it’s just...” Mya chewed on her lower lip. “It wouldn’t do for me to get arrested. I write the crime blotter, for Pete’s sake, I can’t put my own name in there! And...” She trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.  
  
“And what?”  
  
“And I just got my hair cut and I don’t want the first picture of it to be a mugshot, that’s what.” She jutted her chin out slightly at Theon’s guffaw, the sound loud in the stairway. At the same time it was heartening - he’d been tense as a wire the past few days, and she knew it was because he finally had to face the Tyrell case. Theon didn’t want to talk about it though - every time she’d tentatively asked him what was going on with it, he’d either answered curtly or not at all, instead changing the subject, usually steering the conversation back to their wedding. Much to Mya’s chagrin it did the trick every time - the ceremony was Saturday, and today was Thursday. Mya was as easy to distract as a kitten with a string.  
  
“Alright then, I give you my word as a Greyjoy that _if_ the fuzz busts in, you won’t be arrested. And if there’s one thing you should take my word as a Greyjoy on, it’s how to avoid arrest.” Theon winked and tugged her down the staircase. _He does have a point, I suppose._  
  
The door at the bottom was thick, rusted at the bottom and around the steel rivets driven into it. As they approached, a small grate slid open, and after a minute, the door creaked open. Mya had to admit that the inside of the speakeasy was remarkably nicer than she expected - well-lit, a jazz band parked on a corner stage, couples dancing, laughing. If it hadn’t been for the omnipresent dank smell, she would’ve thought she was in any fine, legal dining establishment. There was even a second, stuffy-looking maitre’d standing behind a podium that was nearly identical to the one upstairs.

  
The maitre’d gave Theon something of a double-take, his face taking on a pinched, pained look. His beady eyes roved over Mya briefly, but returned to Theon. “I would think you would know to use the _servant’s_ entrance.”   
  
Theon’s fingers twitched where they rested at the small of Mya’s back, but his smile only sharpened. “Not tonight, Jeevsy. Now, bustle off and find us a table and so help me God, if it’s near the kitchen they’ll never find all the pieces of you. Now off you trot.”  
  
Mya bit back a small groan as the maitre’d’s expression soured even more. For a minute it looked as though the shorter man was going to spit out some retort, but he led them to a small round table with a jerk of his head. The second he vanished into the smoky crowd, Theon flagged down a waiter, giving Mya a cautious look. “I don’t suppose I can talk you into some water chestnuts? They wrap them in bacon-”  
  
“No.” Mya held up a hand with a pleading look. “Please no.” She’d found out the hard way that bacon, even the thought of it, could send her running for the nearest ladie’s room as of late. _It’ll pass. It has to; if Theon has to spend the next 7 months avoiding bacon he’s going to get as bad as Roslin before her monthlies._  
  
Theon sighed in disappointment, but left it at that, waving vaguely at the waiter. “Whiskey neat, and whatever the lady’s having.”  
  
“Raspberry seltzer with lime, and do you have any of those little cucumber and watercress sandwiches?”   
  
“Of course.” The waiter gave a little nod and was gone.   
  
“I still don’t understand how you can manage that rabbit food.” Theon shook his head, but took her hand across the table. Running his thumb over her ring, he leaned a little closer. “Have you been feeling better, though?”  
  
The concern in his voice was...cute, Mya decided. He seemed almost lost when she wasn’t feeling well, helpless even. She squeezed his hand and smiled. “Fine, really. Just not around bacon. Or rye bread, come to think of it.” She furrowed her brow. “Or peanut butter...”  
  
By the time their waiter returned, the dance floor had filled up, and Mya had relaxed a little. Sure, the booze was free-flowing, but what were the odds that the feds were going to come to _this_ place on _this_ particular night? She took a sip of her seltzer, smiling at the sweetness. _Slim to none._ She glanced across the table at Theon, about to suggest they dance, but sighed.   
  
“Having fun?” She nudged his shin with her foot under the table and he started, dragging his eyes off her chest.  
  
“I- what? Sorry dove, it’s just...well, to be honest, if I’d known your tits were going to get all perky like this I would’ve knocked you up the night I met you.”  
  
Mya choked on a bite of her finger sandwich, reaching for her drink. Before she could lay into Theon, a third voice, familiar and usually welcome, beat her to it. “Why Miss Stone, this is the last sort of place I’d expect to find you. Now, _you,_ Detective...”  
  
“Pr- ofessor Lannister.” Mya coughed, eyes watering. Sure enough, Tyrion Lannister had waddled to their table, a red bloom in the middle of his face suggesting he’d been there for quite some time. His coy smile suggested he’d heard every word of what Theon had just said. “I..ah...do you come here often?”  
  
Tyrion grinned, a sharp, uneven thing, and tugged at the hand of a woman lingering behind him. “Not as often as I’d like, but more often than I should. Now, come say hello, sweetling. This is just one of my students and her date.” He tipped his chin up, staring at his companion with a bleary adoration that caught Mya slightly off-guard.   
  
Tyrion’s companion was maybe Theon’s age, maybe a few years older, but very petite. Her eyes and hair were both dark, both gleaming in the club’s dim light. She offered her hand, and when Mya shook it it felt fragile as bird bones. “Shae. It’s nice to meet you. Tyrion talks of his students so often.” She spoke with an accent that Mya couldn’t place, but her smile was bright and Mya couldn’t help but meet it. “It’s so nice to see that they actually exist.”  
  
“Oh, we do. In fact, my poor fiance here probably things I talk about the Professor too much as it is.” The second the words left her lips she heard a quiet, annoyed cough from Theon at the same time she saw Tyrion’s eyes light up.  
  
“ _Fiance,_ is it? My my, this is certainly going to be an eventful year for you two, isn’t it.” Tyrion’s mismatched eyes had sharpened with an alarming alacrity. “When’s the big day, if I may?”  
  
Mya glanced at Theon, who gave her a resigned little nod. “Saturday, actually.”  
  
“Well, don’t let us keep you from your last-minute plans, then.” Tyrion accepted a glass of amber liquid from a passing waiter and took a sip before handing it to Shae. “Try that, darling, you’ll love it. And remind me to have a word with my cousin Lancel. He and the Detective here are colleagues and he didn’t so much as breathe a word of this to me.” He winked and started off, but paused. “And Detective, I’ve always thought Mya’s tits were plenty perky, knocked up or not.”  
  
Theon chuckled while Mya stared, mouth slightly agape, and prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her. “Well, that cat’s out of the bag.” He nodded towards the dance floor and drained his whiskey. “C’mon, there’s a spot out there for us.”  
  
Mya’s eyes scanned the club as Theon’s hand settled low on her back. “Why didn’t you want me to tell him we’re getting married?”  
  
“It’s not him so much as his cousin. I’ve kept it quiet at the stationhouse, and if that little pageboy prick starts blabbing it around I’m going to catch seven levels of shit and that’s the last thing I need right now.” Theon’s gaze roved around the club as if he expected the rest of the police force to appear out of thin air.  
  
“They’re going to figure it out eventually, y’know.” Mya chided him gently.  
  
“Yeah, but by that time it’ll be too late for them to do anything.”  
  
Mya quirked an eyebrow. “‘Anything’? What sort of ‘anything’?”  
  
“Well,” Theon chuckled, and drew her closer. “last July a sergeant got a manacle and the boys had one’a them burlesque dancers surprise him. You should’ve seen his face - red as a whore’s stoplight.”  
  
Mya’s other eyebrow raised now. “And Ned Stark allowed this?”  
  
“He was up at Winterfell, had no idea it happened. Till he found part of the girl’s feather boa in the john.” Theon smiled distantly, as if remembering something fond. “Seemed to think I had a hand in it.”  
  
“Mmhmm, and did you?”  
  
Theon shrugged, his smile in turns bashful and charming. “It wasn’t a _hand_ , necessarily. But I wasn’t entirely innocent.”  
  
Mya laughed. “I’m actually surprised you _don’t_ want a stag party. Seems to me like you’d jump at the chance.”  
  
“Oh I would. I’d love one, as a matter of fact, but not surrounded by my coworkers. God almighty, can you imagine Selmy trying to face down a stripper? The old son of a bitch’d blow an aneurysm on the spot. Nah, I’m fine with not having one. You seen one stripper, you’ve seen ‘em all anyway.”  
  
Mya blinked in surprise. She knew of Theon’s reputation, and of his fondness for loose women, and she’d resigned herself to the fact that while he may not touch them, he’d always be up for a good oggle. Just as she opened to respond, though, screams rose from the other side of the club. The band on the stage cut off with a sudden discord of notes, and Mya saw a flood of dark trench coats crashing through the thick steel door she and Theon had passed through. The maitre’d tried to intervene, holding up his hands, and was quickly slammed against the stone wall.   
Amidst all the shouts and screams, Theon grasped Mya’s arm and yanked her back towards their table. “That’s our cue to book it, dove.”   
  
He barely paused at their table long enough to grab his coat and her wrap, and for a moment Mya wondered why he’d stopped at all when she remembered - his badge was in the inner pocket. The last thing he needed was for the feds to come across it, even after they’d fled. Gripping her hand tight enough to crush it, Theon pulled her through the panicking throngs. As they approached the bar, Mya saw Tyrion and his dark-eyed beauty, and she instinctively reached out and grabbed the girl’s arm, dragging the both of them after her.  
  
Behind the bar was a rather innocuous looking door, and without a second’s hesitation Theon whipped it open, leading them up a narrow, dank staircase. The air grew steadily colder the higher they got, and after a brief trip through a frigid meat locker and a kitchen full of surprised-looking cooks and dishwashers, they burst out a thick oak side door back into the chilly night.   
  
It was quiet out here, but Mya could hear commotion and see police lights flashing around the corner and she knew they couldn’t linger here long. Theon leaned against the brick exterior of the building, bracing himself and trying to catch his breath. “Fucking hate all those stairs.” After a minute he straightened and finally noticed Shae and Tyrion. “Where’d you come from? And what happened to your leg?”  
  
Mya glanced down and saw that Tyrion’s pants leg was torn open at the knee. _He must’ve fallen. We were going so fast_. For a split second she felt guilty, and cleared her throat. She was winded too, far more than she expected to be. “I...we couldn’t just leave them down there, Theon.”  
  
“A fact I am eternally grateful for.” Tyrion was fumbling in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, expensive foreign ones, and he offered one to Theon, who accepted it with a slightly stiff nod. “We can’t linger here terribly long - I know the feds aren’t the smartest men in uniform, but even they should figure out how to round a corner before too long. Miss Stone, Detective, consider me in your debt.” On the other side of the kitchen door a sudden bout of shouting announced the arrival of the feds, and Tyrion grabbed Shae’s hand, limping off across the street.   
  
Theon straightened, watching them go and inhaling on the cigarette Tyrion had given him. “They could’ve gotten us caught, y’know. Slowed us down.” He pulled his wool peacoat on, and wrapped Mya’s slightly-rumpled stole around her shoulders. “C’mon, if you get sick two days before your wedding your ma’ll have my head. Even more than she already does.”  
  
Mya smiled as they started away from Savoy. “Well, you could’ve asked her for her permission to marry me, y’know.”  
  
Theon snorted and slung his arm over her shoulders. She snuck hers around his waist and felt the outline of his gun tucked into the waistband of his pants. It wasn’t his force-issued piece, that much she knew. That one usually stayed snug against his ribs in a shoulder holster he liked to wear whether he was on duty or not. Regardless, she was glad he hadn’t had to use it tonight. _But why’s he carrying two guns, then? What’s he expecting to happen?_ “To Hell with that, sweetheart, I didn’t even ask you to marry me. That was a bit of a command, if I remember.”  
  
“I said yes, didn’t I?” Mya smiled and gave him a little squeeze. “Although I could’ve only said it so you’d stop squashing me.”  
  
“Ouch.” Theon pretended to clutch at his chest, mock-wounded. “The truth comes out, ladies and gentlemen.”  
  
“Oh, hush. I would’ve said yes no matter where you asked.” Mya tugged him to a stop, looping both her arms around his waist. Something had been niggling at the back of her mind, something she’d been unable to put words to until now. “You’re sure you want to go through with this? I know it’s...fast.” _To say the least._  
  
Theon looked down at her, red and blue lights flashing across his face from the squad cars down the block. Distantly Mya could hear barks and orders from the feds, the occasional protesting cry from whomever they were arresting. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, giving her a slight crooked smile. “Have you ever known me to say something I didn’t mean completely?” When Mya opened her mouth to respond, he parked a finger over it. “Not counting anything nice I’ve said about Eloise Hedgen. I said I wanted to do this right, and I’m not about to cut and run, yeah?”  
  
Mya bit her bottom lip, trying and failing to keep a smile off her face. “You better not. Now give me a kiss and take me home, Detective. As long as my mother’s in town I’ve got a curfew.”  
  
Theon snorted but ran a finger along her jaw, tilting her face up to his. “Will she be waiting up for you?”  
  
“Mmhmm. Parked up in her room waiting to see the car pull in.” Mya smiled. “Oh, by the way, I’m staying the night at the big house tomorrow.”  
  
“What?” Theon frowned. “Why?”  
  
“Because. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” Mya’s smile widened as she pecked his scowling lips.   
  
“Are we really following tradition? Now?” The back of Theon’s hand brushed over her belly, and he raised an eyebrow.   
  
“You bet we are. Now c’mon. Make with the cash.”   
  
Theon grinned, and swept her up in a long, deep kiss. Mya combed her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and hoped when they parted, it would be Saturday.  
  
==========  
  
Friday passed with an interminable slowness, and true to her word, Mya stayed out of Theon’s sight the entire time, spending it with the ladies of Riverrun, her mother, and Roslin. When Robb came home from work, she promptly sent him down to Theon’s cottage to make sure he behaved himself. “Give him a kiss for me too, if you feel adventurous.” She’d told him with a wink, and Robb had rolled his eyes.  
  
“He could get so lucky. Besides, I know you and he haven’t...” Robb wiggled a hand vaguely. “In days. The littlest thing’d probably make him...well, how ‘bout I just give him a pat on the head?”  
  
Catelyn Stark let Mya spend the night in one of the nicest guest rooms in Riverrun, and after a long evening of sparkling cider, little petit-fours, and dour looks from one of the kitchen maids, the enormous, pillowy bed seemed like a dream. Try as she might, though, her attention was still drawn to the little cottage on the edge of the property. With the curtains open, she could see it, and see by the light in the kitchen window that Theon, and presumably Robb, were still up.   
  
Bunching her pillow under her head, she wondered if Theon was nervous. He never seemed to get nervous about anything, except this latest case he and Robb were working on. The mere thought of what would happen if it came out that he’d been the one to kill Mace made her stomach turn - she had no idea how Theon was going to get himself out of this one. The thought of what would happen if he didn’t was terrifying, a cold hard knot around her heart. _We could run. He’d look guilty as sin, but he is and if we were fast enough they’d never find us_.   
  
She knew she should feel some shame at the thought of running away, but she couldn’t seem to muster any up and for a moment the the thought was tempting. Just the two of us. Rolling onto her stomach, Mya felt an uncomfortable push in her middle, and shifted onto her side. _Don't think about that. Not tonight. Sleep tonight, and worry later._

 

==========   
  
  
“There’s still time, baby.”   
  
The next morning, Mya tried not to roll her eyes, wincing a bit as her mother jabbed a pin into her hair perhaps a little harder than necessary.   
  
“And don’t roll your eyes at me, young lady. I don’t care if it is your wedding day.”  
  
“Mama...” Mya gazed at her mother in the vanity mirror in Alyce’s room at Riverrun. Her mother had insisted on doing up her daughter’s hair, and was resolutely avoiding Mya’s look, pressing her lips together around a mouthful of bobby pins. “Why are you so against this? I thought you’d be happy for us. You’ve been imagining my dream wedding since I was a little girl.”  
  
“And is this it?”  
  
“Not...exactly, but what does it matter?” Mya reached behind her and stilled her mother’s busy hands, eyes pleading now. “I’m happy, Mama, and that’s all that’s important. Or at least I would be if you’d just ease up a little.”  
  
Alyce sighed and crossed the room, sitting on the edge of her bed. She looked tired, Mya realized suddenly. “You just deserve better. I always pictured you having a house like this,” she said, waving a hand around her. “Marrying someone with loads of money so you wouldn’t have to work, and you’d be able to stay home like a wife and mother should. Not living in a guest house and letting your child raise itself.”  
  
Mya turned in her chair, pulling her thin silk robe closer around her. “Is that what you think I did? Raise myself?” When her mother didn’t answer, she rose and crossed to sit next to her. “Things are different here. I’m not going to be on my own like you were. You know that. I told you that, remember? I know you want to stuff me in your bag and take me back to Eyrie but just trust me, alright? I wouldn’t be doing this if it didn’t feel absolutely right. So stop worrying, and stop second-guessing me, put on your dress, and for God’s sake don’t start crying, alright? If you cry then I’ll cry, and then Roslin’ll cry and Theon’ll go out of his skull because he hates it when girls cry.”  
  
Alyce’s smile was wavery. She cupped Mya’s face in her hands and kissed her cheeks. “When’s the last time you saw water leaking out of a stone?” The question was one Alyce would often ask her daughter when she was younger, and upset about something. Mya smiled as she remembered the way she’d usually answer. _Never, Mama. Stones don’t leak._  
  
“There’s a well over on Pryor Street, actually. Natural spring, water just pops up out of it like no one’s business.” Mya grinned at her mother’s exasperated sigh.  
  
“That’s not what you’re supposed to say. Honest to goodness, moving to this city’s turned you sassy.” Alyce shook her head and stood. “Alright, help me get dressed.”  
  
In what seemed like no time at all, Mya’d been tucked into the back of the Rolls, and Robb, donning a jaunty chauffeur's cap, grinned in the rear-view mirror. “You look lovely, I must say.”  
  
Mya grinned sheepishly and fought off the urge to pat her hair. With such a short time to work with, she’d been unable to get an actual wedding dress, but a few last-minute runs to Bloomie’s with her mother, Roslin, and occasionally Sansa or Catelynn in tow had secured something Mya thought could pass. Alyce had given her a bit of a derisive look when the first dress she’d tried on had been white, and the look alone had cowed Mya into a simple cream-colored sheath with minimal beading, and just a hint of lace along the sleeves and hem. Sansa loaned her a headband she’d decorated with a few pearls, and Mya thought she made a passable bride.  
“Thanks. Where’s Theon? Did you see him this morning?”  
  
“I did.” Robb confirmed. “He took the Caddy down to the church already. Seemed a little jittery, you ask me.” Robb winked, and leaned over to pop the passenger side door open. Roslin climbed in, cheeks pink from the cold, and pecked Robb.  
  
“Alright, let’s go! Catelyn and Alyce are riding over later with the rest.” Roslin turned in her seat, folding her arms along the back of it and resting her chin on it. “So you’re _sure_ , right? We could have you halfway across the country before Theon notices you’re gone.”  
  
“Shut your gob.” Mya tweaked the end of her nose. “And Robb, dear, odds are at least some of Theon’s family is going to be there. Can you please, _please_ restrain yourself and not arrest any of them? Please?”  
  
Robb made a disgruntled noise in his throat but sighed. “If you insist.” Mya shot Roslin a look, and her friend slid a hand into Robb’s pocket. “Hey! What’re you-”  
  
Roslin grinned widely, a pair of handcuffs dangling from her finger. “You just forgot about these, I’m sure.”  
  
The tips of his ears burning, Robb tried to clear his throat. “I must’ve tossed them in there at work the other day.”  
  
“Sure.” Roslin tossed the handcuffs back to Mya. “Here, you take these. Have a little fun tonight.”  
  
==========  
  
The drive out of Kingsport and along the costal road seemed to take too long and yet no time at all. She’d never been to Aeron Greyjoy’s church, and Theon hadn’t really described it much beyond  calling it a little ‘shitshack on the edge of a cliff’. The description had done little to warm Mya to it, even though she knew it meant a lot to Theon that she’d agreed to marrying there.  
  
“Is this it?” Robb leaned forward  and peered through the slightly salt-dimmed windshield. “Rosie, sweetheart, can you see the address?”  
  
“I’m sure that’s it, Robb. There’s nothing else for twenty miles.” Roslin glanced back at Mya. “You look like you’re about to upchuck.”  
  
Truth be told, she felt like she was about to upchuck. Mya swallowed hard, peering out the small back window. _Well, he wasn’t lying_. The church was small, tiny even. Unlike most other churches Mya had seen, this one was resolutely facing away from the main road, and as Robb pulled into the parking lot she could see a narrow path skirting the very edge of the cliff before giving way to cracked, uneven stairs. The few windows that Mya could see were done in an abstract stained glass, all blues and greens. They were remarkably pretty against the mottled grey stone walls, she realized, and mimicked the roiling bay. The Caddy was parked in the church’s shadow, and seeing it made Mya feel slightly better, and she let herself smile.  
  
“God, this place looks like a pit, though.” Roslin wrinkled her nose and adjusted her hat. It was pink, the color a little jarring against the grey winter day.  
  
“Well, not all of us have the time or money to put a hold on St. Mary’s Cathedral, y’know.” Mya tried to bite back her irritation. She loved Roslin like a sister, but also like a sister had to frequently bat down the urge to strangle her.  
  
“Alright, let’s get you two hitched. And soon, it looks like it’s going to start coming down any minute.” Robb shucked off his chauffeur's cap and ran a hand over his hair. “You ready?”  
  
Mya took a steadying breath. “It’s now or never.”  
  
The inside of the church was no less cheery than the outside, and save for a gnarled old woman poking at a wheezing organ in the corner, silent as the tomb. At the front of the church, maybe twenty feet from the back door, stood an altar that looked like it had been constructed of little else than driftwood washed up on the shore and recycled nails. A copper jug, long since covered with patina, stood to one side and Mya knew instinctively it was filled with cold seawater. Aside from that, the altar was bare. The stone walls were veined with green where moss had grown in the moist air. Roslin looked around and shivered, wrapping a hand around Robb’s arm.  
  
“They sure could use a lightbulb or something, don’t you think?” Her voice fell flat against the stone walls, making her sound smaller than she already was.   
  
Before Robb or Mya could answer, a door opened behind the altar creaked open and the remaining Greyjoys filed out. Theon was first, his eyes on the floor ahead of him as he chewed on his lower lip, deep in thought with his hands in his pockets. He looked surprisingly well-rested, and Mya remembered Robb telling her he’d seemed jumpy that morning. _At least he slept_.   
  
Theon looked up suddenly, and their eyes met as the rest of his family filtered out. He seemed almost surprised to see her there, but after a moment he smiled. It wasn’t his usual, crooked-sharp grin, either. There was something...different about it. Bashful, almost boyish. He took a step towards her, looking as if he were about to speak, but before he could a small pair of hands clamped over Mya’s eyes.   
  
“You aren’t supposed to see each other _until the wedding_.” Roslin hissed in Mya’s ear. “Now c’mon, we’re waiting in the lady’s room!”  
  
“I don’t think this place has a lady’s room, sweetie...” Mya tried to argue feebly.  
  
By the time all was said and done, their wedding was a brief thing. The church seemed horribly lopsided once the guests had sat themselves, with Alyce, Roslin, Gendry, and a dozen or so Starks, plus Robb’s uncle Brynden on one side of the narrow aisle, and Theon’s uncles and Asha on the other. There was a small, nearly unnoticeable scuffle when it looked as though Sansa was going to sit next to Gendry, and from the back of the church Mya watched, amused, as Arya tangled her ankle around her sister’s, causing her to stumble. The younger girl slid up ahead of Sansa, a satisfied little smile on her face while Sansa scowled, rubbing a scuff off her shoe. Across the aisle, Asha watched, a small grin on her face. Gendry, by and large, seemed oblivious.  
  
Mya was surprised at her lack of nerves as Robb gave her away with a quick peck on her cheek and a wink at Theon. His cocky grin was back in place as he tucked her arm in the crook of his elbow, although it faltered a bit as Aeron started to speak. He’d told Mya once that his uncle could put a room of people to sleep faster than a college lecture, and Aeron seemed intent on proving him right.  
  
Even years later, Mya would never be able to recall what exactly Aeron Greyjoy preached about at their wedding. Duty, she assumed, and honor, but the words all seemed to blend together in a low, sonorous drone. She kept biting the inside of her cheek to stay awake, but the little twinges were starting to lose their effectiveness.   
  
After what felt like hours, but was probably only five to ten minutes, Aeron stepped away from them, moving behind the altar. Reaching into one of the heavy, draping sleeves of his robes, he set two small bands on the wood and reached for the copper jug. Mya glanced at Theon, eyebrows slightly raised, and he offered a small, confused shrug in return. They’d moved into uncharted territory here.  
  
Aeron gripped the jug, and Mya saw a vein twitch slightly in his head. He hadn’t been thrilled with her insistence on wedding rings, Theon had told her, but she didn’t care. So what if he was uncomfortable with it? She’d been tempted to drag Theon off to St. Michael’s, the chapel on Queenscrown’s campus, and have the pastor there marry them.  
  
“May the Lord God who drowned for us bless these...symbols.” Aeron intoned, the disdain in his voice clear. “May they serve as a constant reminder of the honor, duty, and faith expected of us and all others. Bless them with salt, with stone, and with steel as it is decreed by you, Lord God.” Lifting the jug, he poured three douses of water over the rings, the cold water splattering off the wood and raising goosebumps on Mya’s bare arms.  
  
For all the things Mya wouldn’t remember about her wedding, there was a lot that she would. She would remember was the surprising way her voice shook as she repeated her vows, how Theon’s didn’t, the feeling of the cold band sliding over her finger, and the rush of relief when she looked up at him and realized it was done. They were married now, come Hell or high water.

Distantly she heard a small smattering of applause as Theon tipped her chin up and kissed her and she couldn’t help her smile. For the first time in a long while she felt like everything was going to be alright.

==========

  
Hours later, after a lavish dinner and proper send-off, they lay tangled in their sheets. Theon had wedged one arm under Mya’s head and was lazily playing with her hair, and she smiled. “Feel better?”  
  
Theon’s chuckle rumbled low in her ear. “The fuck do you think? You cut a guy off like that, he’s going to develop an itchy trigger finger.”  
  
“That was no finger, Detective. You of all people should know that.” Mya grinned and rested her chin on his chest.  
  
“Oh, a few hours as my wife and you’re already making dirty jokes? Didn’t think I’d rub off on you quite so fast.” Theon’s grin was positively wicked now, and Mya buried her face in his chest as she laughed.  
  
“But it wasn’t fast.” She bit her lip as he tipped her face up, pulling her closer and kissing her. Mya could taste his last cigarette on him, the faint sweetness of the champagne Catelynn had overlooked, and she found herself wanting more. Tangling her fingers in his hair, she purred softly as his hands wandered down her bare back, resting at her hips. After a moment though, he pulled away and brought a hand back to her face, running his thumb over her cheekbone.  
  
“Listen, dove, I should’ve brought this up earlier but...Hell, the time was never right.”  
  
Mya felt a cold finger of worry worm between her ribs. “What? What’s wrong?”  
  
Theon sighed, staring out their bedroom window at the swirling snow that had started during dinner. “This Tyrell case. It’s going to blow wide open, and soon.”  
  
“I know.” Mya shifted on top of him, tilted her head till she caught his gaze. “You’ve been tied up in knots over it for weeks.” _And not without good reason_.   
  
“It’s going to be a bigger mess than I thought. You know that, and you know what’s at stake. You know what really happened and I know I’m asking a lot of you to keep your mouth shut. It’s not fair.”   
  
“You did what you had to, Theon. It was either him or me, and as horrible as it sounds I’m glad you picked me.” Mya waited for the pang of guilt that usually followed such a thought, but it was absent today. “I don’t know what this is all going to look like when the smoke clears, but I’ll still be here when it does. And so will you. You know what I do know, though?”  
  
“Hmm?” Theon still looked troubled, a faint furrow between his eyebrows.  
  
Mya straddled his hips, sitting up and pulling his hands to her chest. She couldn’t make the Mace Tyrell situation go away, but she could sure as heck take Theon’s mind off it. “I know it’s our wedding night, and it’s still early.” She leaned down so her lips barely touched his, easing her hips back until she felt him, already firm against her entrance. “I know that I don’t want to hear the name ‘Mace Tyrell’ any more tonight, and that I _do_ want you to make me scream. Think you can handle that?”  
  
After a beat, Theon grinned. “I knew I did the right thing paying Jory off last fall.”


	10. The Ringmaster

For half a second, Theon lay in bed, confused as to what had awoken him. To his left, the other side of the bed was empty, but still warm, while on the right, his alarm clock ticked away softly. He had nowhere to be, and nothing to do except fuck his lovely new wife, who was positively _glowing_ lately. Stretching lazily, he took a deep breath, only to stop, mid-stretch.  
  
Bacon.  
  
That was what’d woken him up. The smell of it, rich and thick, filled the cottage, and Theon could hear it frying up, fat sizzling in the pan. But...Mya’d gone off bacon weeks ago, she couldn’t even stand the thought of it; when he’d had a club sandwich for lunch a day or two before the wedding, she’d refused to kiss him until he’d brushed his teeth. The idea of her standing at the stove and cooking some up was simply ludicrous, but when their bedroom door swung open, she was wearing an apron and wielding a spatula, neither of which Theon had known he’d possessed.  
  
“Get up, lazybones! Breakfast is ready.” She turned to go back to the stove, and Theon could she she was wearing his pajama top under the apron, but not much else. Not for the first time in the past few days, he thanked his lucky stars and hopped out of bed, suddenly much more awake.  
  
Sidling up behind her, he rubbed a stubbly cheek against her neck. “Whatever happened to bacon being the most disgusting thing you’d ever laid eyes on?” Her small mew of pleasure didn’t escape him, nor did the way she pressed back against him.  
  
“I just woke up and felt like bacon,” Mya replied, arching her back slightly. Theon let his fingers trail over the gentle curve of her belly and down towards a hipbone, smiling at the way her breath caught. “Odd, isn’t it?”  
  
“Mmm, you won’t find me complaining.” He kissed a spot behind her ear, lips just grazing the soft skin. She smelled wonderful, like sleep and bacon and just a hint of perfume. “And eggs too?”  
  
“Eggs too,” she confirmed. “If you don’t make me burn the bacon. I had to go sneak it out of the big house icebox, you know.”  
  
Theon immediately took a step back, raising his hands in surrender. “Sweet Christ, don’t burn the bacon. I’ve been craving it for days.”  
  
She pointed at the kitchen table with the spatula. “Sit. It’ll be done in a second.”  
  
He did as he was told, watching Mya bustle around the tiny kitchen, cracking eggs and adding a dash of seasoning to them before putting the pan on the stove. She turned to smile at him, black hair falling messily over one shoulder, and if there hadn’t been bacon at stake, Theon would’ve pulled her into his lap and had her right there in the kitchen. As it was, he waited patiently, the smell of the cooking bacon too strong to resist.  
  
Before long, Mya was setting two overflowing plates down on the table, and sitting across from him. She looked around briefly and gave him an exasperated look. “You couldn’t get out the silverware and pour two glasses of milk while you were waiting?”   
  
Theon just shrugged, snagging a piece of bacon and stuffing it in his mouth. His eyes closed the moment he tasted the meat. It was perfect, just how he liked it...burnt to a crisp with just a bit of chewiness to it. _Oh my_ God _, bacon how I’ve missed you..._  
  
A contrived cough interrupted his thoughts, and Theon cracked one eye. Mya was staring at him with an expression of horrified amusement on her face.   
  
“What?” He took the fork she held out to him and set in on his eggs.  
  
“Are you going to be alright there, Detective? You were...making _noises_.” There was a hint of barely-concealed laughter in her voice that warmed Theon up more than the bacon and eggs ever could.  
  
“‘S jus’ good,” he told her. “I missed bacon.”   
  
“Clearly,” Mya said pertly, pouring a liberal stream of maple syrup on to her own plate.  
  
“You mountain folk and your strange habits,” he teased, nodding at the syrup. He couldn’t get over the fact that she put syrup on her bacon, and figured it had to be some up-country tradition. Wedging his fork in his mountain of eggs, he used his bare fingers to eat another slice of bacon, ignoring Mya’s raised eyebrow.  
  
“Just _try_ it, why don’t you?” She nudged her plate towards him. “It’s good, I promise! It’s salty and sweet together.”   
  
Theon wrinkled his nose, considering her plate. All that perfectly good meat, drowned in sticky-sweet syrup. “I’ll...ah, pass, thanks.” He popped another piece into his mouth, grinning at her exasperated sigh.  
  
Mya poked at the plate with her fork, then looked up at him with a smile. “Close your eyes. No, no, I promise I won’t force feed you any,” she told him when he balked. “Go on, don’t you trust me?”   
  
“Well when you put it like that...” He closed his eyes.   
  
For a moment, it was quiet, then Theon heard the familiar squeak of the kitchen chair opposite him. Her lips were sweet on his, and sticky, _Fucking syrup..._ , but when she nipped at his lips before sliding her tongue between them, he couldn’t help but groan. She tasted better than any bacon, and he had a sudden urge to push the plates off the table and lay her down there instead. When she moaned softly against his mouth, he gave in to that urge completely.  
  
“Theon!” Mya pulled his head back from her by the hair, even as her legs wrapped around his waist. “I am _not_ cleaning that mess- Oh...” Her lips found the notch of his jaw, and then there were no more words. The rickety table rocked under their combined weight, and somewhere in the back of his mind, Theon offered up a prayer to the Drowned God that it wouldn’t collapse in the middle of their fucking.  
  
Later that day, when he was a little more clear-headed, he would wonder if maybe his family’s god hadn’t heard him and decided to have a little fun with him. Because before the thought had even left his head, the phone was ringing on the wall in the kitchen. Theon wasn’t in the habit of stopping for every little distraction, but after about thirty rings, Mya pushed him away, annoyed.  
  
“Just answer it.”  
  
Which was how they’d come to be sitting in a goddamn old-fashioned sleigh as it crossed the iced over expanse of water between Pyke and the mainland. Mya hadn’t been too happy with him for accepting his uncle Euron’s “offer” to come stay a few nights on Pyke so she could get to know the family better, but it’d been more of an order, so here they were. And anyway, when she’d seen the mules waiting at the dock, Theon had thought she was going to squirm right out of her skirt.  
  
“Ohhhhh, just look at them,” she’d cooed. He’d never heard her act this way before, and he wondered if it was because of the baby. Maybe pregnant women were more apt to gush over every little thing...how would he know? “I grew up with mules in Eyrie! They use them in the winter, because they’re so sure-footed.” He’d practically had to throw her into the sleigh so that the servant Euron had sent could get them on their way.  
  
Theon remembered the sleigh from when he was a boy, although it looked to have gotten a fresh coat of paint and new runners since then. There wasn’t much coming and going from Pyke in the winter, and his father had often paid off the Coast Guard to bust the ice up in the bay, but the sleigh was the most reliable choice of winter transportation. The wind whistled around them as the sleigh rounded the island of Pyke and made for the cove on the back side of the island, but Mya and Theon were snug and warm under an enormous bearskin rug that smelled of mothballs.  
  
Vaguely, he wondered where they’d dug the fur up from, but he knew it was no use asking the driver of the sleigh. Euron had trained his servants well: none of them uttered a peep unless it was absolutely necessary. In any case, the question fled from his mind when the docks came into view and Mya scooted a bit closer to him under the blanket. She was holding up surprisingly well, at least as far as he could tell, for someone who was returning to the site of their prolonged kidnapping.   
  
Theon squeezed her thigh in what he hoped was a comforting manner, and brushed her pink, wind-bitten cheek with his lips. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Greyjoy, you’re family now.” She turned her head to kiss him back, but a slight roll of the eyes let him know he hadn’t been as reassuring as he’d hoped.   
  
A path had been cleared up to the house, but there were patches of ice nonetheless, and Theon was glad the servant was bringing up the rear with their overnight bags. It was hard enough just hauling Mya up the path, her smooth-soled shoes slipping over every little speck of ice and slush. He briefly wondered how Asha managed the path in her omnipresent heels, but soon the old house loomed over them, commanding his full attention.  
  
It looked just as run down as it ever had, with peeling grey paint and a loose shutter banging in the wind. Even so, Pyke had a foreboding, gloomy sort of majesty to it; the house was dramatically set on a bluff overlooking the bay, and its heavy, Old World architecture easily withstood the storms that had stripped the paint away.  
  
“I thought your family was raking in the cash?” Mya asked him, never taking her eyes off the house.  
  
“I guess...” Theon shrugged cautiously. His family’s business endeavors weren’t exactly something he was in the habit of talking about so openly. “Why?”  
  
She snorted. “If they’re so rich, why is this place such a pile?”  
  
“Oi! It is not a- Well, yeah, it really is. But it’s...I don’t know. It’s Pyke, is all.” He’d never even thought to ask himself that question, but now that Mya had, it was hard not to wonder where Euron was spending all his bootlegging gains, if not on his home. “Anyway, do us both a favor and don’t ask my uncle, yeah?”  
  
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” The small shiver she gave, and the way her fingers tightened on his sleeve as he helped her up the rickety back steps would’ve been answer enough for him.  
  
They were settled in a comfortable room in the east wing, in what used to be the nursery, if Theon wasn’t mistaken. This room, at least, had been updated. He vaguely remembered a rocking chair in the corner where a leather club chair now sat, and there were lines etching the door frame that seemed familiar. He ran a finger over them, trying to remember.  
  
“They look like height marks,” Mya said. Her voice was muffled, and when he turned to look, she’d flopped onto the four-poster bed, her face buried in a froth of silk covers. “I always wanted a bed like this when I was little.”  
  
 _Height marks. Of course..._ Theon turned away. He seriously doubted that anyone had been bothering to mark down the Greyjoy children’s heights by the time he came along, the fourth and youngest by years. He ran a hand over the dark, polished wood of the footboard. “You wanted a bed with squid and crows carved all over it?” He batted away the throw pillow Mya blindly chucked his way, laughing.  
  
“No!” She sat up and crawled to the foot of the bed to inspect the carved wood. “I didn’t even see those. I just meant a four-poster with a canopy. Of course, I imagined pink tulle, not...this.” She flicked the heavy gold drapery.  
  
“It sure is...something.” He nudged Mya onto her back and climbed over the footboard to straddle her hips. “This could almost be a honeymoon suite at the Ritz, donch’a think?”   
  
She rolled her eyes at him again, something that was obviously going to be happening often this weekend, but tugged him closer by the lapels at the same time. “No,” she said, her lips brushing against his. “I don’t think. So don’t think you’re getting out of taking me somewhere nice this summer.” Theon felt her hips pressing up against his, eager as ever.  
  
“Why, niece, I’m hurt you don’t find Pyke nice enough for your honeymoon. And here I thought you’d enjoyed it so well on your last visit.” The door had opened silently, on well-oiled hinges, and Euron was leaning against the door frame, a sardonic grin hitching up one corner of his mouth.   
  
The unexpected sight of him made Theon want to vomit, but he just rolled over and stood stiffly. He kept Mya behind him, her fear pricking at his back. “Need something, Uncle?”  
  
Euron’s single blue eye was smiling, but it was a icy, brittle smile. “Just wanted to make sure that the servants put you where I’d directed. Only the best for the newlyweds, of course. I’ve commandeered a room upstairs, next to Victarion’s.”  
  
 _I’m sure he’s just_ thrilled _about- wait, if he..._ “This is your room?” It was a struggle to keep the disgust he felt out of his voice, but Theon thought he managed it fairly well, especially considering the way Mya’s nails were digging into his wrist. “That really wasn’t necessary-”  
  
“Oh no, I insist.” Euron’s gaze shifted over Theon’s shoulder, and his smile grew as he addressed Mya. “Asha convinced me that you deserved a warmer welcome than you received last time. In any case, I insist that you two stay here. Now, I’ll see you both at dinner.” He was gone before either of them gathered their wits enough to reply.  
  
It was a tense half hour until dinner, but soon enough Theon had zipped Mya into a deep blue dress and donned his suit jacket, scowling at himself in the mirror. She’d had spoken very little since Euron had interrupted them, save to tell him that she just wanted to rest until dinner. The way she’d curled up, distastefully shoving the blankets to the foot of the bed, gave him a funny, tight feeling in his chest.   
  
Theon hated how at home he felt here, when she was so clearly uncomfortable. It surprised him that Pyke still felt like home after all these years, but it undeniably did so. The air, cold and sharp with a hint of salt, seemed to clear his head. But he couldn’t enjoy the sensation fully, not when he could see the tension in Mya’s hands, her fingers laced together tightly as he did up the back of her dress.   
  
Planting a kiss at the base of her neck, he wrapped an arm around her waist and took her hands in his. “Try and relax, sweetheart. Nothing’s going to happen, I promise. I know it’s not much, but this is your place now just as much as it is mine.” He tried to sound more sure than he felt. Pyke wasn’t forgiving of outsiders; his own mother had had trouble finding her place here, he knew.  
  
“But this _isn’t_ your place, Theon.” Despite her words, Mya’s body sagged against his slightly, as if she’d let go of her worries a bit. “You don’t belong here, with them. You’re better than that.”  
  
Theon wanted to point out that Mace Tyrell would probably beg to differ, but his new wife was nuzzling his neck and he could feel the traces of a smile on her lips. Upsetting her now would be beyond foolish, so he merely replied with a murmured “Whatever you say, doll.”  
  
Dinner was a supremely awkward affair, although thankfully less formal than he’d imagined it would be. Mya had told him, vaguely, about the frightening formal dinner she’d been forced to sit through when Euron had held her on Pyke, and Theon had been dreading a repeat performance. Tonight, however, it was a simple meal, served family style. After the cook, an older woman with a brow-beaten look about her, brought it to the table, there wasn’t a servant to be seen.  
  
“So,” Asha said, passing the bowl of mashed potatoes to Vic at the foot of the table , “when’s the little bundle of joy due to grace us with his presence?”  
  
The sip of wine Theon had just taken seemed to solidify in his throat, and across from him Mya froze with her glass halfway to her mouth. To her credit, she recovered first, while Theon was still contemplating stabbing Asha with his fork. “Is it that obvious?” She asked lightly. “And it could be a girl, y’know.”  
  
“I’m the only girl in this family going back for five generations, sweetheart. It’s a boy.”  
  
Mya glanced at Theon, then at Euron, who was smiling paternally at the head of the table. “I’m due around mid-August. But really, it _could_ be a girl. My mother said I’m carrying just how she did when she had me.” She put a self-conscious, almost protective hand on her belly, and Theon felt a quick pang. If it was a boy, she’d have her hands full and then some, but Asha was right. Boys ran in the family. “Anyway,” Mya went on. “I’m not _that_ big. How did you know?”  
  
His sister raised an eyebrow at him quizzically, and Theon did his best not to wince. “Your hubby didn’t tell you? I was the first one he told...well, me and my bottle of Scotch. We had a nice long chat about it, didn’t we, baby brother? I convinced him it was in his best interest not to let you get mauled by some moron with a mail-order medical degree.”  
  
Theon made a vaguely affirmative sort of sound. He was still trying to choke down his wine. “And thank the Drowned God she did,” Euron said. “Since nobody _else_ in this family seems able or willing to provide me with an heir.”   
  
His tone was light enough, but instantly the mood at the table became fraught with tension. Theon had no plans of letting his child anywhere near Euron or his illegal empire, he knew that much. And Asha and Vic both looked distinctly uncomfortable at the mere mention of children. Aeron was the only one who seemed blithely oblivious, spooning a heaping pile of green beans onto his plate.  
  
“Get yourself a wife and make one of your own, why don’t ya?” Evidently Asha was the only one of them bold enough to say what they were all thinking. “I mean, you’re not _that_ old yet, Unc.”  
  
Euron shrugged complacently. “I’ve been thinking about it, actually. Not children, not yet, anyway. But marrying. There’s a lovely young woman in Paris I’ve had my eye on.” His smile sharpened. “She’s almost as beautiful as the throne that was taken from her, which is simply...divine.”  
  
“Is she of the Faith?” Aeron asked, looking up from his plate. Of all the things Theon wondered about this poor girl and his uncle’s interest in her, that was the least of them, but he supposed Aeron had his own concerns.  
  
“Not at all,” Euron said. “She’s a Targaryen. The last of them, evidently. About your age, I believe,” he said, nodded at Mya, who just looked confused. Theon had heard of the Targaryens, of course, but only vaguely. They’d, at one time, had an ambassador here in Kingsport, but that had been years ago, before they’d lost everything. He wondered if this poor girl even knew she was being considered for marriage, or if she was still happily unaware. Euron waved his wine glass, swirling the liquid inside. “In any case, those plans are still...coalescing. Hardly worth discussing at the moment. Let’s have a toast, hmm?”  
  
The remainder of dinner was marginally less tense, although there was an odd moment when Asha had suggested to Mya that they name their unborn child _...son, she keeps insisting it’ll be a boy..._ Balon after Theon’s father. Euron’s jaw had clenched noticeably at the thought, but Theon was more concerned with the almost hysterical way that Mya had laughed. She had clearly had about as much Greyjoy family togetherness as she could withstand.  
  
Thankfully, there was no dessert course. When they’d finished eating, Euron merely withdrew a thin, black cigarette from the elaborate case in his pocket and waved a hand languidly. “Shall we have a smoke and some brandy in the sitting room?”  
  
Unsurprisingly, Mya begged off. She couldn’t have the brandy, couldn’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke, and had clearly had enough of his family for one night. She submitted to a peck on the cheek from Asha and a longer, lingering kiss on the hand from Euron with a resigned air, her eyes locked on Theon’s. They’d been married less than 72 hours, but he felt like he could read her mind. He was quite sure that if he didn’t at least walk her back to their room and tuck her snugly into bed, the consequences would be dire.  
  
Sure enough, he’d no more than closed the bedroom door behind them when she pulled him down onto the bed and buried her face in his neck. “God, that was _horrible_. I can’t believe you never told me that you told Asha, Theon!” She nipped at his neck and pinched his side at that last bit, still clinging close despite her annoyance.   
  
“I could’ve sworn I told you about that...” Theon said, working the zipper of her dress down. “Now come on, let’s get you out of this and into bed.”   
  
Quick as a flash, she’d wiggled out of his arms and was crossing the room. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m sleeping in the all together here, Detective.” She pulled a nightgown he’d never seen out of her bag, a floor-length flannel thing with long sleeves and a high neck. It looked warm...and utterly unsexy. When she pulled it on, it was all he could do to bite back a groan. He couldn’t see an inch of her besides her head and hands. “Right, that’s better. Now scoot over...” Mya wiggled her fingers at him. “Go on, scoot.”  
  
Sighing, Theon just got up off the bed completely, folding the covers back for her. “I’m going to sweat to death tonight with that thing in the bed with us,” he told her as she got comfortable. “You know that, right?”  
  
\-----  
  
“Well that was quick!” Asha grinned at him from her perch on the arm of Vic’s chair. “I never took you for a one-pump chump, baby brother.”  
  
“Ah, shut it, will ya?” He slumped down onto the couch opposite them and hooked an ankle around the leg of an ottoman, pulling it close. The sitting room was basically as he remembered it, although it’d obviously been updated since he was a boy. The only thing that was different was the huge mahogany desk that Euron sat behind, his feet up on the desk as he tilted back in his chair.   
  
Theon tried, and failed, to imagine his father sitting in such a cavalier way. He didn’t think of his father often, but it was hard not to here on Pyke. He wondered what Balon would think of his family if he could see them now. He found he couldn’t even imagine, beyond the obvious fact that he would most likely not approve of the way Asha was running her fingers through Vic’s hair. _It wasn’t enough that Bob Baratheon and Ned Stark had to take him from me once, then_ you _had to go and do it again_.   
  
It’d never been proven that Euron had had anything to do with Balon’s death, but Ned had always had his suspicions, and Theon had picked up on them. When he’d reconnected with Asha as an adult, she and Vic had basically confirmed those suspicions for him. _And yet here we all are, dancing for him like a bunch of Goddamn circus monkeys_. He should have to pay for what he did. Theon wasn’t in the habit of talking to himself, but it was hard to ignore the small voice that pointed out Euron wasn’t the only one who’d taken a father away from his children, grown or not. _Who’s gonna pay for Mace Tyrell_?  
  
A ripple of laughter around the room distracted him, and he took the glass of brandy Aeron was offering him from the other side of the couch. “Yeah,” Vic was chuckling as he pulled Asha down onto his lap. “She tried to pay us off. Like a few clams was gonna do anything...”  
  
“Tell ‘em the best part,” Asha nudged him in the ribs, dangling a shoe from one of her feet lazily.   
  
“She drank the wine! The whole damn bottle. She was cross-eyed drunk in the bathtub when we got there, and she’d spilled a glass in the kitchen, and there was this little dog lappin’ it up. I mean, that’s, what, a hundred-dollar bottle right there?”   
  
“One hundred and fifteen, actually.” Euron seemed amused. “I’m glad she drank it, though...no sense it letting it go to waste, like some I could name. You did bring the bottle back with you, yes?”  
  
They were talking about the woman he’d delivered to the other night, Theon realized. He was right, the wine had been a message.  
  
“Erm...” Vic stalled. “Well...”  
  
“You’re joking,” Euron said, incredulous. “I don’t particularly care if the police find it, but it was just sitting there empty, and you _left_ it? Even you aren’t that dumb, Victarion.”  
  
“Look, I was gonna bring it back, but fuckin’ _Qarl_ was havin’ a lark with it, tossin’ it around and teasin’ that Goddamn dog with it...” Asha sniggered, and he scowled at her. “The kid thinks he’s the bee’s fuckin’ knees, the Drowned God only knows where he got _that_ idea...” They all looked at Asha pointedly, who just shrugged with a laugh. Qarl was her pet, there was no denying it. “Anyway, he dropped the damn thing, so we just tossed it in the trash. Along with a few others that were in there.”  
  
“Have a chat with your baby-faced little pet, won’t you, niece? I do hate when people are careless with my things.” Euron turned his bright gaze to Theon. “I assume you’ll hear when the woman is found, yes?”  
  
“Unless it’s while I’m out here,” Theon said, draining his glass. “And besides, Robb and I won’t catch another case while the Tyrell one is still open.” _Thank you so much for that one, Uncle_.  
  
“Ah, that little inconvenience...” Euron steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “If I’m not mistaken, the younger Tyrell boy is itching to spill some major ink about the incompetence of the Kingsport police force. If I were you, I’d want to get that taken care of as soon as possible.”  
  
“No shit,” Theon spat out without thinking. “Should I handcuff myself to my partner and confess, or try and make them figure it out?”  
  
“I was thinking more along the lines of finding someone to take the fall for it.” He tapped his lips with a long finger. “Maybe Qarl? Or is that a bit extreme for one broken wine bottle?”  
  
“Just a bit, Unc,” Asha piped up.  
  
“Oh hush, girl, I’d make sure he got off. Probably. Why are you so fond of him, anyway?” He leaned forward with a grin. “Wait, don’t tell me...his cock’s bigger than Victarion’s, isn’t it?”   
  
Theon braced for Vic to lunge at his brother, or possibly pull his piece, but Asha put a hand on his chest and settled herself more solidly in his lap. She was clearly used to defusing the tension between the two brothers. “If it was, he’d be in a fuckin’ sideshow.”  
  
 _Wait...the wine bottle..._ Theon couldn’t stop thinking about that broken wine bottle sitting in the lady’s trash bin, a clear sign of Euron’s cold, calculating anger. “You really think you could get him off?” He tried to keep his tone casual, but he noticed the way Euron’s gaze sharpened.  
  
“There’s a good chance. Otherwise, I’d just send him abroad for a while and wait until we have a DA I could pay off to bring him home. Why, do you want to unburden your soul of this heinous crime, nephew?” Euron looked amused at the thought of it. “Because I happen to like you right where you are, so don’t go getting any ideas.”  
  
“No, no...not me.” But it was too late, he’d already had one. It had to have been drifting around, half-formed, in his mind for a while, he realized now. But it was the broken wine bottle that had solidified it, and given him the courage to voice it. “But there might be another way...”  
  
“Spit it out, Theon,” Asha said, motioning with her cigarette.   
  
He raised an eyebrow at Euron, who nodded, before going on. “The bottle of wine made me think of it. Did you send one to Tyrell?”  
  
There was a long silence, the only sound in the room the crackle and pop of the logs in the fire. Finally, Euron answered. “I did. He collects wine, you know.”  
  
“I do know,” Theon replied. “And, like you said, that’s an expensive bottle. It’s probably got a prime place in his wine cellar...I’d bet my badge on it.”  
  
“And?”  
  
“And, there’s another one just like it at a dead lady’s house. A dead lady that you...had a disagreement with. And I happen to know that Garlan Tyrell has reason to suspect _someone_ in this family.” Theon took a deep breath before going on; he was on thin ice here, and he knew it. “If I were to get called in to this scene, or...made my way there, I would be in a perfect position to suggest someone else besides myself.”  
  
Euron raised an eyebrow. “Who would you be suggesting, my dear nephew? And what benefit would this...suggestion bring to me?”  
  
“Well...” He knew what he had to say, but it stuck in his throat, all the same. Theon didn’t scare easily or often, but he was scared now, with Mya asleep just down the hall. “You. The wine has a crow on it, and well, you know the nickname.” Euron’s expression remained neutral, but his single eye seemed darker in the dim flicker of the fire.   
  
“Besides, everyone knows who runs this family...an order like that would’ve had to have come from you.” _That much is true..._ “And,” Theon went on, trying to put as much weight behind this proposal as possible, “it would cement my position in the force, which is where you said you want me. Busting my own uncle would practically guarantee me a spot there for life. I’d be beyond reproach. And you said you could get Qarl off-”  
  
“Qarl, yes. He’s a nobody, a foot soldier.” Euron tapped his lips again, deep in thought. “But Stannis Baratheon has been trying to hang something on me for years. He’d never let me off so easily...” His gaze roamed over them, first considering Theon and Aeron on the couch, then taking in Asha and Victarion. “Brother...?”  
  
“What? No.” Her voice remained calm, but Asha’s spine stiffened, the only outward sign of her dismay. “No, you know Baratheon would take him just as happily as he’d take you, you-”  
  
“Asha, please,” Vic clapped a hand over her mouth before she could finish what was clearly an ill-advised sentence. “OW, motherfuck!” He yanked his hand away, and Theon saw a flash of red. “What have I told you about biting, God _damn_ it?!”  
  
“Fuck off,” she snapped before turning back to Euron. “You said you had an eye on a girl across the Pond. Well go get her, why don’t you? I’m sure Paris is much nicer than Kingsport this time of year, yeah?”  
  
“It’s nicer any time of year, niece. More romantic, too. I could send you both over there, if you like?”  
  
“No,” Asha said flatly. “I think Theon’s idea is better.” She blinked, as if surprised that those words had just crossed her lips. “They’ll never be able to touch him, not for running rum or for anything else, either. He’ll look squeaky clean, and you’ll have him in your back pocket forever. And sooner or later, poor Selyse Baratheon will bury her husband with the stick still firmly implanted in his ass, and then you can come home with your pretty little foreign girl.”  
  
“Pretty little foreign princess, you mean.” Euron took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Fine. I snapped Mace Tyrell’s beefy neck. Is it settled, then?”  
  
“And his bodyguard,” Aeron spoke for the first time since Theon had joined them. “Him you shot.”  
  
“Oh for fuck’s sake, and the bodyguard, too.” Euron looked supremely bored for someone who’d just admitted to two murders. Theon supposed that was better than just about any other emotion he could’ve shown. “Now that we’ve figured that out, I’m going to bed.” He glanced at Victarion and Asha. “And keep it down tonight, you two, or I’ll ungag Falia. The damn girl brays like a donkey, I swear...” His parting shot killing any further conversation, they all filed out of the room after him and left the dying fire to the servants.   
  
Theon was pleased to find that the fire in his own room had been stoked pleasantly high, and that Mya had evidently been unable to stand the heat; her flannel nightgown was crumpled at the foot of the bed. She was sleeping peacefully in the shirt he’d planned to wear tomorrow. He slipped into bed beside her, and curved his body around hers. The action was already so familiar to him, and judging by the way she sighed sleepily and wiggled backwards, to Mya too.  
  
“...time is’t?” Mya mumbled, pulling his arm closer around herself. “‘s everything alright?”  
  
“Shhh, it’s late. Go back to sleep.” He kissed the soft skin behind her ear and cupped one of her breasts, the weight of it filling his hand and comforting him. “Everything’s fine, it’s just fine.” And for the first time in weeks, that didn’t feel like a lie.


	11. Uneasy Peace

“I am looking for a Detective Greyjoy.”  
  
Robb and Theon’s heads jerked up at the same time and swivelled towards the front counter. Parked firmly in front of it was a woman who, Robb supposed, could be regal-looking if it wasn’t for the pancake makeup she had on. She was tall, and would tower over Robb. _Goddamn, she could be a quarterback for Notre Dame with shoulders like that._ He raised his eyebrows at Theon, questioning, and his partner just shrugged  
  
Two weeks had passed since Robb had stood in a shoddy stone shack and watched his best friend do the one thing with a woman he thought he’d never see - marry her. He’d noticed a marked change in Theon since then - he seemed...relaxed, for lack of a better word. Well, more relaxed than he had been. He still got a little wired up every time the Tyrell case was brought up, but Robb couldn’t really blame him for that. It was starting to become a major thorn in his side as well.  
  
Robb had been able to keep any thoughts about Theon’s involvement in the murder firmly out of his mind. Every time one so much as poked up out of the scattershot mess of his mind, he imagined himself firmly pressing a thumb over it, squashing it back down where it belonged, somewhere beneath trying to remember when his mother’s birthday was and  when his next dentist appointment was. That little scrap of paper was just that - a scrap. Inconsequential. No smoking gun.  
  
At the front desk the woman’s heavily-kohled eyes scanned the faces of Robb’s fellow officers before finally lighting upon Theon. Robb glanced at him, and was amused to see a hint of confused panic on his face. He stood, maybe a little nervously, and touched the knot in his tie. “That’d be me, Miss...?”  
  
The woman smiled, brushing past their front desk girl as easily as if she’d been a sheer curtain. She breezed over to Theon’s desk, hips rolling in a way that didn’t quite ring true with Robb. He’d spent plenty of time watching Roslin walk, and  something just seemed... _off_ about this woman’s gait. She perched on the edge of Theon’s desk, batting her eyelashes, and Robb heard a rush of muffled snickers throughout the room. The other officers had stopped whatever they’d been doing and were now watching with interest. Oh no. Robb suddenly remembered the previous July - he’d been at Winterfell with his family when the boys had called in a stripper for a newlywed sergeant, but he remembered the fall-out. _And Dad wasn’t even that upset. Semly’s gonna blow a fuse..._  
  
“You can call me whatever you want, peach pie.” The woman purred. She wrapped her hand in Theon’s tie and pulled him close. Robb debated running interference, but instead just leaned back in his squeaky chair, hands wrapped around his coffee mug. There were only a handful of things he truly loved, and watching Theon squirm was one of them. “Now, rumor has it you thought you could go off and get hitched and not tell any of your buddies here about it.”  
  
Behind him, Robb heard Lancel Lannister snort with laughter, and wondered if the rest of the officers hadn’t put the rookie up to finding this creature. He glanced over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows, and Lancel suddenly became very interested in a spot on his sleeve.  
  
Next to him Theon tried to pry the woman’s hand off his tie. “It was just a quick small thing, nothing for them to get-”  
  
The woman yanked him closer and pressed her lips over his. “Hush now, baby boy. You come with me into one of those back rooms there and we’ll see if we can’t arrange a proper punishment. How’s that sound?”  
  
“I...uh...listen, I’ve got a lot of stuff do to this afternoon, my partner and I do, don’t we Robb?”  
  
“Nope.” Robb grinned. “Schedule’s clear as crystal. Go on, buddy, relax and enjoy the show.”   
  
The look Theon shot him was so dark and full of loathing that Robb thought he might have to walk home tonight, and all it did was make him bust out laughing. The woman grinned, catty as you like, and shifted her grip on Theon’s tie. “C’mon then. Time’s a-wastin’.”  
  
Before Theon could respond the door to Selmy’s door opened, swinging hard against the brick wall hard enough to make the frosted glass in it rattle. _Oh Lord, here we go._ Selmy’s sharp eyes roved over his squadron, brow furrowed. Robb knew he had to be at least 60, maybe 65 years old, but that didn’t stop him from being a physically imposing figure, and today was no exception. He strode through the room slowly, letting every person in his path know exactly how upset he was. Selmy stopped in front of Theon’s desk, arms crossed across his chest.  
  
“What exactly is going on here, Detective?”   
  
Robb felt a shiver go down his spine. That was another thing about Barristan Selmy. His anger was worse, and scarier, when he was quiet. Robb had learned shortly after joining the force that he’d rather have Selmy screaming at him than the Selmy that was glaring daggers at his partner right now.  
  
Theon cleared his throat, finally managing to yank his tie away from the woman, who didn’t seem at all intimidated by the police chief. “Just a, ah...misunderstanding. She’s looking for someone else.”  
  
“I don’t have time for this bullshit, Greyjoy, and neither does the rest of the force. Lannister, see to her, will ya?” Selmy rubbed a hand through his snow-white hair. “I swear to Christ, it’s like herding cats with you lot sometimes. Alright, we got a stiff. Thoros and Dondarion are already swamped, and Trant’s out with the flu. You two.” He jerked his head at Robb and Theon. “1221 Waverly Place. Get on it and behave yourselves. There’s gonna be some ink about this one.”  
  
Before Robb could even get his coat off the back of his chair Theon was halfway across the room, and Lancel had taken the woman’s arm to get her some coffee. The expression on his face was purely lovesick, and Robb fought off a shudder. He grabbed his coat and followed his partner, leaving Selmy to steam at the rest of the force.  
  
“Not the stag party you had in mind, was it.” Robb was still grinning as he climbed in the passenger side of the already-running Rolls.  
  
Theon snorted. “That’s putting it mildly. Lannister’ll have a grand time though. More than he knows.”  
  
“What makes you say that?” Robb blew on his hands. It may be February, worst the past of the winter, but God if it wasn’t cold still.  
  
Theon smiled a bit grimly. “That hooker, stripper whatever she was, was wearing aftershave.”  
  
\-------  
  
The scene on Waverly Place was barely-controlled chaos, one that made Robb groan. Reporters and radio announcers were roaming the sidewalk, reminding him of so many hens looking for one more piece of grain to peck at. A long dark van was parked in front of a sprawling house, with ‘King’s County Coroner’s Office’ painted in neat letters on the side, and a few officers from another precinct who had beaten Robb and Theon to the scene  were stationed outside the front doors. Red rope had been wrapped around the bare trees lining the road in front of the house in an effort to keep the press from wandering too close to the house, and Robb was glad to see that so far, it had been working.  
  
Robb hated, absolutely _hated_ , working on a case with reporters poking around. They were always getting in the way, asking stupid questions, taking his non-answers and misconstruing them into some far-fetched tale that  usually had nothing to do with the actual case at hand. What was worse was when he was called upon to give a statement. He didn’t have his father’s years of experience in front of a reporter, and frequently found himself reaching for words or having to backtrack. It made him look young and inexperienced. _You_ are _young and inexperienced._ Robb bit back a sigh as Theon threw the Rolls into park behind the coroner’s van, and accepted his friend’s cigarette. “You wanna talk, or is it my turn?”  
  
“You’re the pretty one. It’s your turn.” Theon switched off the ignition and the two men sat there for a minute. The press hadn’t caught their scent yet, a fact that Robb was grateful for. “What’s the big deal about this one, anyway? Selmy didn’t say much.”  
  
Robb shrugged and sighed. “Just have to give them some standard BS until we see what’s what, I guess.”  
  
Theon made a non-commital noise in his throat and turned up the collar of his wool peacoat. “You ready then?”  
  
“Nope.”  
  
They glanced at each other, and opened their doors at the same time. The second their feet hit the slushy asphalt, the throng of reporters started flocking towards them, less like hens now and more like birds of prey. Theon slid away from Robb, ducking under the red rope while Robb was surrounded by notepads and jabbing pens.  
  
“Are there any truth to the rumors that the mob is behind this?”  
  
“What can you tell us about the victim?”  
  
“There’ve been a lot of rumblings about the police department’s incompetence and habit of promoting green officers too quickly - d’you think that’ll impact Police Chief Selmy in the next election?”  
  
Robb’s head was swimming already, and he held up his hands. “Hang on, all of you. As you can see, my partner and I have just arrived here and odds are, you know more about this case than we do. So let us do our job and we’ll have a statement for you.” The reporters began barking questions again. “What did I just say? Now back off, all of you.”   
  
Just as Robb went to elbow his way out of the crowd, he spotted a familiar pair of bright blue eyes looking overwhelmed and completely out of place. _Mya? She’s got class today, we dropped her off on campus on our way in._ Standing in the middle of the crowd, bundled up as she was, Robb thought she looked about twelve, and incredibly lost. He caught her gaze and offered a small, tentative smile, and Robb beckoned her forward. She glanced to her left and spoke to the reporter standing next to her, and it was only then Robb recognized Garlan Tyrell. The older man was smiling widely as he approached, with Mya gripping the sleeve of his coat tightly.   
  
“Stark, nice to see you again.” Garlan stuck a hand out and Robb shook it firmly.  
  
“Likewise. Mya, you look frozen half-through.” Robb motioned them on, lifting the red rope for them. “Theon doesn’t know you’re here, otherwise he’d’ve put you in the car where it’s warm.”  
  
“She wouldn’t learn much in there, would she.” Garlan jostled Mya lightly.   
  
“Garlan called me straight out of class when he heard about this.” Mya nodded at the house, cheeks pink from the cold. “My history professor won’t be terribly impressed, though.”  
  
Garlan shrugged as they made their way up the sidewalk to the house. “This _is_ history, happening right here. As soon as we heard about the stiff over the horn, I thought it’d be a perfect learning experience for my Stone here. Well.” Garlan paused. “My Greyjoy now, I suppose.”  
  
Robb knew that if Theon heard Garlan refer to Mya as his anything, chances are Garlan’s even white smile would be short a few teeth, but he kept his thoughts to himself. He paused at the front door, debating. He really didn’t have any idea what sort of mess they were looking at inside, and it would reek of unprofessionalism to let two reporters roam around without securing evidence, even if one of them was a close friend. “Listen, why don’t you two go around back and wait there, just for a minute, alright? I’ll send Theon down as soon as I can.”  
  
Slipping in the front door, Robb was hit with a smell that nearly sent him to his knees. “Jesus _Christ._ ” He hadn’t smelled anything so horrid, so rancid and rotting since.. _.well, since Bolton. God, is it that bad? What happened here?_  
  
Holding his sleeve up to his nose, Robb glanced up the stairs as footsteps approached. Theon was trotting down, followed by Dr. Qyburn, the county’s medical examiner. Robb was relieved to see Theon looking a little green around the gills as well, but the doctor looked as fresh-faced as if he’d just come from a field of daisies. Theon took one look at Robb and tossed him a small vial from his pocket. “Here. You’ll need it.”  
  
Vicks. Robb caught the jar one-handed and unscrewed it, smearing a glob of it under his nose. It took away the worst of the smell, but it lingered on the very edges of his senses. “Thanks. What’ve we got?”  
  
“Virginia Hewitt.” Dr. Qyburn looked at a notepad he held. “46 years old, white female, widow. Reported missing yesterday after she missed a long-standing lunch date with several friends.”  
  
 _Hewitt._ Robb understood all the hoopla now. Virginia Hewitt frequently graced the gossip columns Sansa was so fond of reading, always swirling around in her social circles and spending her dead husband’s money like it was going out of style. “So what happened?”  
  
“Daughters found her in the bathtub upstairs.” Theon jerked his head at the second floor landing. “Wasn’t a pretty sight.”  
  
“Suicide?” Robb had heard that Hewitt was prone to creating drama where none was warranted. Maybe she took her histrionics a little too far this time?  
  
Qyburn shook his weathered gray head. “Not unless she was able to shoot herself in the back of her head. Twice.”  
  
“Ah.” Robb cleared his throat. “Well, let’s take a look, shall we?”  
  
Theon swallowed hard, but Qyburn merely nodded, and the men headed back up the stairs. “One thing you should be aware of.” The doctor paused outside the partially-closed bathroom door. The smell up here was overwhelming, and Robb reached for the jar of Vicks again. “I haven’t had a chance to examine her properly, of course, but the time of death is roughly two and a half weeks ago. Give or take.”  
  
“Two and a half-” Robb stammered. He was trying to breathe through his mouth but the horrifying image of the smell wafting into his mouth nearly made him sick. “Someone like her, you think she’d’ve been missed sooner.”  
  
“She was supposed to be on a cruise around the Mediterranean.” Theon glanced at his notepad. “She was going by herself, her daughters said, and she never wrote letters when she would go on these trips of hers.”   
  
Robb nodded and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the sharp bite of the Vicks rather than the fetid, sweet smell of rot. “Let’s get this overwith then.”  
  
It was worse than he’d imagined. Granted, Robb was still fairly green when it came to cases like this. He’d lucked out, and hadn’t had to come face-to-face with many bodies. What lay in the bathtub didn’t resemble anything remotely human. Virginia Hewitt, or what was left of her, was bloated, her skin grey and purple and hanging off in chunks where the water touched it. Her head lolled against the edge of the tub, a chunk the size of a golf ball missing out of her jaw. Her hair, dyed red beyond what nature intended, was brittle and stiff, brown where blood had dried in it. The shower wall, tub side, and floor were all spattered with brown spots and dried gray jelly that Robb knew to be brain. Her hand dangled over the side of the tub, stiff and grey, but...Robb swallowed his gorge and stepped closer. “What happened to her hand?”  
  
“Ah yes.” Qyburn said, no more concerned than he would be if Robb asked him the specials at the deli down the street. He nodded at a door that led, Robb assumed, to the master bedroom and no sooner had he done that then there was a high-pitched, shrill noise.  
  
A dog barking.  
  
Robb’s eyes fled to Theon’s, wide and unbelieving, but all his friend did was give a terse nod. _God almighty._ He glanced back at her hand, the white bones sticking out the ragged ends of her fingers. “What else is there, then?”  
  
“The wine glass,” Theon nodded to a half-empty glass perched next to the faucet. “We’re gonna try and get some prints off it, see if whoever killed her got thirsty, and we’ve got two shells from a .44.”  
  
“Fat lot of good those’ll do us.” Robb grumbled, and Qyburn smiled. Robb refrained from shaking his head in disbelief - in the entire time he’d known Qyburn the man had always seemed as comfortable around death as a grandfather would around his grandchildren. It was unnerving.  
  
“There’s a lot of new things coming up in...oh, what’s it called. Something ballistics. Anyway, there are methods being researched right now on ways to identify which gun a bullet is shot from. This’d be a perfect case to test them out on.” He nudged the bathroom door open. “Ollie, when you pull her out, bring her out the back. We’ll avoid the press that way. And don’t forget the dog.” He stepped into the bedroom, his conversation muted, and Robb turned to Theon.  
  
“This is a mess, that’s for sure. Oh, Mya’s downstairs, by the way.”  
  
Theon blinked. “What? She had class today.”  
  
Robb waved a hand. “Tyrell’s with her. Let’s go downstairs, yeah? Get away from this...aroma.”  
  
Theon’s expression darkened slightly at the mention of Garlan. He had such a jealous streak, Robb knew, and he was frankly amazed Theon had been able to refrain from pissing in a circle around Mya to mark her as his territory. He clapped a hand on Theon’s shoulder and led him out of the small bathroom. “She looks tired too, buddy. You letting her sleep at night?”  
  
This earned him a sharp grin and slight chuckle from Theon. “She’s not letting _me_ sleep, more like.” He grinned wider when Robb rolled his eyes. “Honest, pal. I found me a little minx there.”  
  
How Theon could even be _thinking_ about Mya’s sexual prowess right now was beyond Robb, but he just laughed. “Keep it in your drawers there, alright? At least till you get home.”  
  
Garlan and Mya were waiting in the kitchen, him looking perfectly at ease and her looking about ready to be sick. She brightened up when she saw Theon, offering a small smile. “Garlan said this’d be a good opportunity to learn how to deal with the rest of the press, and how crime scenes usually operate.”  
  
“Did he.” Theon’s eyes cut to Garlan briefly. “That’s fine and all, I suppose. It’s just...this is a rough one, dove. Robb almost blew chunks up there, and-”  
  
“I did not.” Robb interjected.  
  
“Regardless, I don’t want you having to look at that kinda stuff, alright? Not yet.” Theon brushed a lock of Mya’s hair back.   
  
“She’s going to be running this beat someday.” There was no small amount of pride in Garlan’s voice, and Robb desperately wanted him to shut his mouth. “She’ll have to get used to a little dirt under her nails.”  
  
Robb groaned internally as Theon’s dagger-sharp glare turned on Garlan, but before he could respond there was a clatter of metal on the stairs, followed by the skittering of little claws, and a small, fat, and fluffy dog ran into the kitchen. It was supposed to be white, but Robb’s stomach turned at the rust-colored stains around the dog’s mouth and paws. Before anyone could stop her, Mya knelt and scooped the dog up, laughing as it squirmed in her arms, licking at her face and yipping.  
  
“Well hi there. Poor thing, it must’ve had a rough time.” She looked from Robb to Theon, confused at their horrified expressions. “What? What’s wrong?”  
  
 _It’s got a taste for human, that’s the problem._ Robb just shook his head. “The pound’s gonna take it, clean it up, see if they can’t find another home for it.”  
  
“Oh, poor baby. Theon, couldn’t we..?” She turned those big blue eyes on her husband, and Robb wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry.  
  
“No.” Theon said quickly. “Absolutely not. Not that one. In fact...” He lifted the dog out of Mya’s arms as Qyburn’s assistant, a pock-marked boy with greasy hair, pushed the gurney carrying Virginia Hewitt’s now-concealed body into the kitchen. “Here, you lost this.”  
  
Ollie scowled as Theon struggled to hold on to the dog. The animal, having caught the scent of its owner, was wriggling and squirming, whining to get back to its master. “Easy-” but it was too late. The dog squirmed right out of Theon’s grip, landing awkwardly on the covered body. An arm slid out from under the rubberized sheet, finger bones gleaming, and Mya made a low noise, looking from the bones to the dog.  
  
“Oh my _God._ ”  
  
“Mya, sweetheart-” Theon put a hand on her arm even as she clamped a hand over her mouth and bolted out the back door. Theon glanced at Robb and raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch. Robb took the hint, but he wasn’t fool enough to call Theon out on his queasiness in front of Garlan Tyrell.  
  
“Why don’t you stay with the body, Detective. You can give Tyrell here the scoop.” Robb ducked out of the kitchen before he could catch the brunt of Theon’s glare.  
  
Mya was easy to find. She’d run almost instinctively to one of the two garbage cans tucked next to the garage and was gripping the sides of one, heaving violently. _Poor thing. This is a hard case to cut your teeth on, especially in her condition._ Robb reached over and held the sides of her hair back gently until she was done, and wordlessly held out his handkerchief. She straightened, looking slightly dazed, and wiped her watering eyes and then the corner of her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Theon must be so embarrassed, me running out like a little kid like that.”  
  
“Ah, don’t worry about it. There’s a reason I’m out here instead of him.” Robb grinned. “Feel better though?”  
  
Mya shrugged. “I had no idea. That poor dog. That poor _woman._ The smell...” She shook her head and Robb rubbed her shoulder. He’d been fifteen when his mother had been pregnant with Rickon, and he vividly remembered how sick she’d been in the beginning and how he’d had to help her when his father had been called away for work. That, and a lifetime of various childhood illnesses and flues had largely steeled him against sickness.   
  
“It’s ok. it’s rough if you’re not used to it. Hell, I’m more used to it than you are and I really did almost blow chunks up there.” Robb grinned. “And if Theon gives you any shit about it, just keep in mind that the first time we went to the morgue in the Academy he damn near threw up in his own hat.” He didn’t feel the need to include the fact that he’d almost passed out directly into an open body cavity at the same time.   
  
Mya gave him a wavery smile. “I’ll be sure to remind him of that.” She grimaced. “I wish I could brush my teeth now, though.”  
  
Robb dug through his pockets and pulled out a crumpled pack of Red Apples, and a half-empty tin of Altoids. “Take your pick.”  
  
Plucking up the mints, her smile was more grateful now. “You’re a lifesaver, Robb, I tell you what.”  
  
The kitchen door creaked open and Ollie rolled the gurney out, struggling a little with the wheels in the snow. The dog had hunkered down between Virginia Hewitt’s legs, chin resting on its paws and such a look of desolation on its face that Robb actually felt bad for it. Garlan and Theon strode out next, the latter looking relieved to see Mya functional again.  
  
“You alright, dove?”  
  
Mya nodded, and he slipped a hand down her back, pulling her some ways away. Robb tapped one of his Red Apples out of the pack and offered it to Garlan, who shook his head. “My wife’s after me to cut back. Says it’s bad for our girl.”  
  
Robb nodded. “My ma doesn’t let me smoke in the house anymore either, but she said it’s because it makes the drapes smell.” He tapped ash off the end of his cigarette into the garbage can and glanced down, watching them filter down and coat a broken wine bottle. His eyebrows furrowed. _That label..._  
  
“You look like you’re about to lose your lunch too, Stark. The under-30 crowd’s coming up a little light in the shoes today, aren’t you?” Garland chuckled at the expression on Robb’s face, but as he followed his gaze his smile fled like oil across water. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw, suddenly looking stricken. He straightened abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Sto- Gre-...Mya, we should get back to the office - your Detective gave me enough information that we can start writing this up.”  
  
Robb watched as Theon cupped Mya’s cheek, asking her something he couldn’t hear. She covered his hand with her own and nodded, giving a small smile as he kissed her forehead, and they both crossed towards him and Garlan.   
  
“We’ve got our hands full too.” Robb glanced back in the garbage can and remembered the half-empty bottle of wine, and in the far back reaches of his mind, where he couldn’t decide if his thoughts were the most cluttered or least, something clanged off-tune. _That’s the only wine bottle in the can. What are the odds it broke before she took her bath and she cleaned it up? Slim, there’re no rags or anything. Did the killer clean up after himself? Take it, see if we can get any prints off it._ He shook his head, returning his attention to the matter at hand. “Where are the daughters? We’re gonna need to talk to them.”  
  
Theon nodded at the house next door. “Neighbor’s. They were pretty shaken up, apparently, not that anyone’d blame ‘em.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair and turning back to Mya. “I might not get out till late, dove, you have cab fare enough to get home?”  
  
“I left my purse at work but I’m sure I do. If not, campus isn’t that far, and I can bunk up with Rosie.” She smiled pertly.  
  
“Nonsense, Greystone. I can give you a lift home.” Garlan said. He was giving Theon an unreadable look, one that Robb instinctively felt mirrored the constant knot his own stomach was in lately.   
  
Theon tried to step in. “No, that’s alright-”  
  
“That’d be fantastic.” Mya cut her husband off with a gracious smile and a sharp elbow to the ribs. “I’d appreciate it. And I know Theon will appreciate not having to worry about me walking to campus, won’t he.” Theon grumbled something incoherently as Mya pecked his cheek. “I love you too. Call when you’re done and I’ll heat up some dinner.”  
  
Robb watched Theon watching Garlan and Mya head back around the front of the house, a muscle going in his jaw. He let his friend fume in the backyard for a moment before clapping a hand on his shoulder. “C’mon, Greyjoy. Get your panties out of their twist; we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.  
  
\-------  
  
It was close to 8:00 by the time Robb was finally able to slump onto the couch in the family room back at Riverrun. The day had proven to be long and exhaustive, not to mention frustrating. Virginia Hewitt’s daughters had been an emotional mess, and while Robb did his best to remain sympathetic of the fact that they had, in fact, found their mother’s deceased, bloated, partially-eaten corpse just that morning, the sheer volume of their tears and hysteria had made his head throb.   
  
He idly watched Sansa and Bran engaged in a chess match in front of the fireplace, cracking a grin when Sansa beat Bran in less than a dozen moves. Robb and Jon had used to tease Sansa, telling her she should try out for St. Anne’s chess team, only to have her flip her hair haughtily and tell them only _nerds_ were on chess teams, and what would her friends think of her then? Privately Robb would rather she spend her time with chess nerds rather than Joffrey Baratheon and his smug little smiles.   
  
Bran leaned forward in his wheelchair, resting his chin on his fist as he studied the board. He and Sansa played frequently, Robb knew. Their father had taught Bran how to play after his accident, and Sansa had picked up on the game as well. Ever since August it had become a ritual for the two of them to sit down at least three or four nights a  week and play, and neither one took their losses poorly. Robb liked to think it would make their father proud to see Sansa stepping up like that.  
  
“How did you know I was going to move my Knight like that?” He asked.

"You used the Reti Opening. You always do that with your Knight when you use Reti. Try the Queen's Gambit next time. "Sansa took a sip of hot cocoa. "It might give you more options.

Across the hall the phone rang, and Robb heard Arya yelling his name from the study. Sighing a little, he pushed himself off the comfortable couch and padded across the hall. “Is it Rosie?”  
  
Arya shook her head, holding out the receiver. “Some man. I didn’t ask.”  
  
Robb ruffled her short hair. “Go on and do your homework or something. I know you’ve got some.” He waited until the study door had closed after her before he spoke. “This is Robb.”  
  
“Robb. Garlan Tyrell.”  
  
“Garlan.” Robb blinked, surprised. “What can I do for you?”  
  
“I know it’s late, and I know you and Greyjoy were probably working yourselves to the bone today, but I’d like to meet with you. Privately, if I could, and tonight.”  
  
“I. Uh.” Robb scrubbed a hand through his hair and glanced at his watch. “Sure, I suppose. Where’s best?”  
  
“My house. It’s closer to the city than my parents’, don’t worry.” Garlan gave him the address, and Robb scribbled it down. “I’ll see you soon, then?”  
  
Robb nodded and then realized Garlan couldn’t see the gesture. “Half hour, forty minutes.”  
Leaving a note in the kitchen letting his mother know where he was going, Robb grabbed his coat and made his way out to the garage. The building was long and low, and before the arrival of automobiles had housed carriages and horses. It still smelled faintly of hay and old leather and horse sweat, and Robb remembered hours of he and his siblings playing hide-and-seek in there when they were younger. As he got closer, he heard a rhythmic thudding sound, fists against leather, and grinned in spite of the turmoil starting to bubble in his mind. His mother had agreed to let Gendry work on the Caddy just after the wedding, and after seeing his natural dexterity with the engine, she and Jory had offered to let him stay on. He’d moved into the small apartment over the garage, a two-bedroom setup that he and Jory now shared.  
  
When Robb pushed the door open, he was greeted by the sight of Gendry working a punching bag he’d hung in the corner by the workbench, fists wrapped in grubby tape. He glanced over his shoulder as a breeze swept through the garage, nodding. “Evening, Mr. Stark.”  
  
“Robb, Gendry. Mr. Stark makes me sound old.”  
  
Gendry bobbed his head and swiped a meaty forearm across his forehead. “Takin’ the Rolls out?”  
  
“Nah, the Caddy. Theon gets his guts in a twist if I take the Rolls out and he’s not there to babysit. And the Caddy’s running a lot better.” Robb spun the keys on his finger and popped open the driver’s side door. “I’ll be quiet when I come back.”  
  
“Ah, don’t worry about it. If I can sleep through Jory snoring across the hall I’m not gonna hear you pull in. Just be careful with her, yeah?”  
  
Robb gave him a lazy salute and backed the car out of the garage. He liked Gendry; the boy was smart, polite, unassuming and eager to please. He knew Mya wished he would finish high school, but Robb didn’t really see a point in it. He had a skillset and talents that could give him a career, and maybe someday he’d own his own garage.  
  
The address Garlan had given him wasn’t that far away at all. Robb was soon pulling into a hilly neighborhood full of ancient trees and Victorian mansions. He drove past a park filled with elm trees, gas lights lining an ice-skating rink that, even though it was close to nine at night, was still surprisingly full. Easing carefully around a slushy corner, he pulled in front of a large, neatly-kept house overlooking the park on one side, and a river bluff on the other. There was a clumsily-built snowman in the front yard, and as Robb walked up the front path he couldn’t help but smile tightly, remembering Garlan’s daughter and the way the girl had clung to Theon.  
  
Garlan was waiting for him, pulling the door open before he could ring the bell and ushering him in. “Sorry to jump on you,” he said. “Luci and Leo both have a bit of a cold right now, and I didn’t want the doorbell to wake them up. C’mon.”   
  
Robb followed him down the hall, through a large, well-appointed kitchen, and down a flight of stairs. “My father was a wine collector, you know that. He brought all of us up to appreciate a fine bouquet and such, and you’d be hard-pressed to find a collection more well-stocked than his.” Garlan batted at a lightswitch and flooded the basement with light. Row after row of bottles glinted in the sudden bright, each carefully labelled.   
  
He cleared his throat. “You’ve got quite the collection yourself, I have to say.”  
  
“None of them purchased after 1920, Detective. Now, in the interest of full disclosure, several have been gifted to me, but under the Vol-”  
  
“The Volstead Act, yes, I know.” Robb bit back a sigh, remembering the smug little smile on Tyrion Lannister’s face that fall as he’d offered Theon and him drinks in his office. “You can’t buy it or sell it but if it happens to fall into your lap...”  
  
“Which is why I called you.” Garlan’s smile fell, and he ran a hand along one shelf of wine bottles, pulling one out in particular. “This was sent to my father a week before he died. It should look familiar.”  
  
Robb took the bottle from him and felt his apprehension rise hot in his throat. Staring up at him was the same ruby-red crow that had been found in Virginia Hewitt’s garbage can and was now somewhere in the city’s crime lab, awaiting processing. He swallowed and it was a harder task than it should’ve been. He turned the wine bottle over in his hands as if the simple action could whisk away the label, but no. The crow glared at him, mocking, and Robb was desperate for some other detail to focus on.  
  
“This has been opened.” His voice sounded dull, and he cleared his throat.   
  
Garlan nodded. “We had a drink, my brother and father and I. It’s good, it’s good wine. Nice bouquet.”  
  
Robb didn’t give a damn about the bouquet, and he knew Garlan didn’t either. “Don’t suppose it came with a return address, did it.”  
  
Garlan shook his head, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Not as such. But...” he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t imagine how sticky this is for you, Stark. And I hate having to keep bringing it up.” He nodded to a corner of the room where a bar resided. “Sit, and we’ll talk.”   
  
Robb set the bottle of wine on the bar in front of him, turning the label away. He wished more than anything that he hadn’t agreed to come out and meet Garlan, and that he could just take this bottle and the other one and fling them far into the black winter waters of the bay. Garlan stood behind the bar and  crouched down for a second before coming up with a second bottle. “Ever seen one of these before?”  
Robb rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly and pulled this second bottle closer. It also lacked words, and the image was far more rough-hewn, depicting some mythical sea creature or another. He shook his head. “No.”  
  
Garlan was still fidgeting around behind the bar and came up with two cut-crystal glasses. “Not surprising. Pyke punch, they call it. It’s like  slutty little sister of that one there.” He nodded at the crow’s eye bottle. “Not normally my speed, but it’s cheap.”  
  
“Not often gifted, though.” Robb cocked an eyebrow and Garlan grinned.  
  
“Not often, but sometimes. You look thirsty, Stark.”  
  
Truth be told, Robb would’ve punched his own grandmother for a shot at the bottle scotch in the study at Riverrun, but he had a job to do. “That’s evidence, Tyrell, both of ‘em, and Selmy’ll have my balls in a vice if I drink away evidence.”  
  
“Those aren’t wine glasses, my friend. Surely even you know that.” A third bottle appeared, filled with an amber-gold liquid. “Wine’s the song I dance to, but my brother Willas prefers whiskey. You need to lighten up a little, and this’ll help. I won’t tell.”  
  
At this point Robb didn’t care if Selmy, his mother, and his 9th grade history teacher Sister Agatha were standing there. He waved a hand, and Garlan poured. “Tell me about these wines.”  
  
“They’re similar. Too much so for it to be a coincidence, and you know why it’s called Pyke punch, yeah?”  Garlan shook his head, taking a pull off his drink. “Of course you do, you’re not stupid.”  
  
The whiskey tasted like gasoline to Robb but he drank it anyway, probably too fast, and poured himself another glass. “So your pops and this Hewitt lady both had the same taste in wine.”  
  
“And company. I was doing a little looking into her background this afternoon, and our new gossip columnist confirmed the last time Euron Greyjoy was in the city they were seen together. Him, her, and her stepdaughter Falia at some social event or another.” Garlan swallowed. “Seems the Widow Hewitt and Falia didn’t get along.”  
  
The whiskey was stronger inside Robb than it looked inside the bottle; already his head was starting to swim and he had to coach his tongue to work right. “So you think Theon did this one too?”  
  
“No, that’s not what I’m...listen, all I’m trying to say is that there’s a very real chance that my father’s death and Virginia Hewitt’s death are connected. These wine bottles, plus my father’s memo...it’s not coincidence.”  
  
No, it wasn’t, that Robb could agree with. He sighed; he was tired, his head was starting to pound, and all he wanted to do was either go home and bury his face in his pillow, or sneak into Rosie’s dorm and bury his face in her chest. Now that Garlan had pointed out the strand of thread between these two cases, he wouldn’t be able to ignore it. Not until he could sever it completely.  
  
 _Is there any way to do that without talking directly to Theon, though?_ Robb had never particularly enjoyed confrontation, especially within his own family. And God knew Theon didn’t like being dragged through the mud. The number of fights he’d gotten into after transferring schools would attest to that. _Even if there was, you’d never do it. He’s like your brother, for God’s sake. Man up and talk to him face-to-face._  
  
The drive home seemed to take an eternity, and Robb cranked the window open. The wind was up from the south, damp and cool, but lacking the bitterness winter usually brought. He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to rub away the heaviness in his eyes, but it was hard, and his thoughts were a jumbled mess. Right now he wished his father was there more than anything. Robb had no delusions about what his father would do if it was proven that Theon was tied up in this mess - foster son or no, Ned Stark would uphold the law. _Does that make you less of a good cop than him? Less of a Stark? Less of a man?_  
  
Robb straightened in the driver’s seat, his brow knitting together. _You’re no less of a man than Dad was. How many times did he look the other way when Bob was out philandering with another woman, and how many times did he ‘forget’ to file the domestic assault reports when he smacked his wife around?_  
  
He leaned his head against the open window, squinting as he drove. He was nearly home, but knew that he wouldn’t sleep tonight, regardless of how drowsy the few glasses of whiskey were making him feel. He wouldn’t sleep until this whole mess was settled, and in a way that didn’t leave him feeling so sick to his stomach. Just do it, then. He’ll still be up. Go and ask him once and for all.  
  
Robb was so focused on his thoughts that he nearly drove past his own driveway. The thin tires skidded a little on the wet slush, but after a second he felt them grab the soupy crushed-shell driveway. Riverrun was dark save for the porch lights and Bran’s window on the second floor, but Robb wasn’t paying attention to that. He glanced at Theon’s cottage, chewing on the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper.  
  
The curtains were drawn, but the lights were still on in the kitchen, at least, and in his and Mya’s bedroom. Robb fumbled with the key in the ignition and climbed out of the car woodenly and for a minute he burned with irrational anger at the whole situation. He wished he and Theon had never caught the Tyrell case, that they’d never even _heard_ of Mace Tyrell, and for one white blind moment he wished he’d never even known Theon. _Dad didn’t even have to bring him here. He did it because he felt guilty, that’s all._

  
The thought was an ugly thing, sprouting up from a part of Robb’s mind that he rarely acknowledged. He shook his head, trying to uproot it, and realized he was standing on the cottage’s porch, one hand raised to knock and trembling. _Just look me in the eye and tell me you weren’t involved. Just tell me. For Chrissake, I love you more than my own brothers..._  
  
Before his knock could fall, the light in the kitchen blinked off with a startling abruptness, and Robb’s hand fell to his side. This was ludicrous. What was he thinking, that he could just barge in to Theon’s home at ten-thirty at night and demand confessions? He shook his head and stepped off the porch, making his way back to the car. Robb sat in the cold car for a long time, gripping the steering wheel and trying to stuff his desperation into a jar, to save it for later when he could dispose of it properly.  
  
 _Tomorrow or the next day but tomorrow._ He tasted copper again. _Tomorrow._


	12. Played Out

Theon had been expecting the knock on his door for hours, days even. After they’d found that broken wine bottle in the trash at the Hewitt woman’s place, Robb had been acting, well...twitchy. And if there was anything Theon knew, it was the sight of his best friend in the midst of some moral dilemma. He should know all the signs, he’d helped _put_ Robb in that position often enough. So when the knock finally came just when Theon had pulled Mya onto his lap for an afternoon quickie, he wasn’t surprised. Annoyed at his partner’s poor timing, yes, but not surprised in the least.  
  
“Gimme ten!” He yelled at the closed door, giving his wife’s ass a squeeze as she froze against him. “Don’t stop, doll, c’mon...he’ll wait.”  
  
“I...what?” Mya lifted her head from his neck, blinking dazedly. “How do you know who it is?”  
  
Theon shifted her slightly, and it took every ounce of his willpower not to keep going, regardless of the now increasingly heavy pounding on the door. “Because Robb’s the only one I know that knocks on a door like he’s got a stick up his ass. And because he’s the only one who comes down here without calling besides Arya. And she’s fully stocked.” He didn’t mention that Robb had only started knocking after coming in one morning and catching a glimpse of Mya in bed in the aftermath of a long, long night...and morning.  
  
Mya made a small disappointed sound that went straight to the tiny little part of Theon's heart that wasn't black as sin yet. It never failed to surprise him just how much he could still _feel_ , at the way Mya's touch or smile went straight through him.  
  
"You'd better let him in," she said, sliding off of his lap and pulling a ratty woolen blanket over her bare legs. "It's freezing out there."  
  
Theon sighed. "Fine..." Without getting up, he yelled at the door again. "Just use your damn key, Stark!"  
  
He tucked a hand under the blanket and absentmindedly cupped his wife's calf, as if the skin-to-skin contact would help him think. He knew what Robb wanted to talk to him about, and he knew what he had to do; it wasn't going to be a hard sell, at least, he didn't think so, but Theon hated lying to Robb. He always had...the kid was just so damn _trusting,_ and it wasn't like there were a whole lot of people lining up to place their trust in Theon. He just had to keep reminding himself that his family was placing a whole hell of a lot of trust in him, not to mention Mya, who'd linked herself to him irrevocably. Besides, if this played out like it was meant to, Theon would be the golden boy on the force for once, no small incentive.  
  
"Theon, I need to-oh...Mya. I'm sorry, I didn't..." The tops of Robb's ears were flushed, and not from the cold. A blind man could've seen the way he was trying not to look at the deep V neckline of the men's nightshirt she wore, or the way her lips were swollen from kissing. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the floor as if willing it to swallow him whole. Theon debated whether to put him out of his misery, but Robb pulled himself together and went on. "I'm sorry for interrupting," he said firmly. "I just need to borrow Theon for a bit. It's about a case."  
  
"Oh, all right," she said, smiling. She had a bit of a soft spot for Robb, Theon had learned, especially when he was giving Theon a hard time. "I suppose I can spare him for a little while. Go on, then."  
  
They hadn’t even made it out of the driveway before Robb started his speech. “Theon, listen. I’ve got to tell you something about the Tyrell case, and I don’t know if you’re gonna like it, but it’s gotta be said.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his mess of curls, damp with melting snow. Theon was positive he’d rehearsed this casual approach in front of the bathroom mirror before coming down this morning. “That bottle of wine that we found in Virginia Hewitt’s trash? One was delivered to Mace Tyrell just a week before he went missing.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” Theon didn’t take his eyes off the road. All of this was old news to him, but the fact that Robb had evidently been talking to Garlan Tyrell without him hurt more than he’d thought it would.  
  
“Yeah. A pretty rare vintage, too. A robust red with a nutty bouquet and undertones of cocoa. Garlan says-”  
  
“Get to the point here, Robby. We’re not all wine connoisseurs like your buddy _Garlan._ ” God, but Theon was growing to hate that man. It was bad enough having Mya go all googly-eyed over him, but now Robb too?  
  
Robb gave an injured sniff, but went on. “Well the bottle his dad got is the exact same as what Virginia Hewitt had, and according to Garlan, it’s not for sale anywhere, as far as he can tell. It’s a private label. But...”  
  
Theon waved a hand at him, impatient.  
  
“Well, like you said, Garlan is a wine connoisseur. He knows his stuff. And he says-” Robb swallowed audibly, and it became apparent to Theon just how hard this was for his friend. “He says it’s subtle, but that the taste profile is remarkably similar to one other type of wine he’s had recently.” There was a long beat of silence before Robb went on. “He says it’s a more refined, full-bodied version of Pyke punch.”  
  
 _Goddamn, that’s actually kind of impressive..._ Theon hadn’t known that anyone could actually taste similarities between different wines, but of course, if anyone could, it would be Garlan Tyrell. The Greyjoys not only sold cheap hooch from across the border, but also had their own wine: a cheap, nameless red with a black and white image of a sea monster inked on the label. ‘Pyke punch’ was a nickname used in all corners of Kingsport society, some more affectionately than others. Theon had heard that Stannis Baratheon had once taken a crowbar to a crate of the stuff, but that was mere rumor.  
  
Impressed as he was, Theon kept a poker face. “Does he now? Seems like pretty flimsy evidence, if you ask me...”  
  
“Oh come off it, Greyjoy!” Robb raised his voice for the first time. “Between that and the note Garlan found-”  
  
“I’d hardly call it a ‘note’,” Theon interjected. “More like a stray scrap of paper, if you ask me.” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing...the whole point of this conversation, at least from his end, was to make sure Robb walked away thinking Euron had killed Mace Tyrell.  
  
“Damnit, Theon, be serious for once, will you? That ‘scrap of paper’ definitely had Greyjoy written on it, and I know you know I’m right, judging by the way you stormed out of there when he showed it to us the other day.” They were stopped at a light on Riverside, and Theon risked a glance over at Robb. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said, “I dare you.”  
  
“You’re...not wrong.” Theon said.  
  
“Christ, am I gonna have to arrest my best friend?” Robb’s voice was shaky, and Theon was glad the light had turned green, so he could turn his attention back to the road. “I mean, you think I don’t know where you’re going when you leave late at night?”  
  
“Where am I going, Robb? To murder Mace Tyrell and- Shit!” He slammed on the brakes and swerved to avoid a slow-moving old Tin Lizzie. Suddenly tired of driving, he continued on in the turn and pulled into the dirt lot of an old farmer’s market. Snow blanketed the abandoned stalls, but for a split-second, he could feel the sun warming his face and smell the farmers’ dusty horses; he and Robb had spent many a summer day hiding from Catelyn behind these stalls. _Oh get it together, Greyjoy, enough with the waltz down memory lane._ “Okay, so I got a little side business going...you know I’m not the only one in this town. And it’s got nothin’ to do with fucking _murder,_ pal.” The lie left a bad taste in his mouth, but it came out easily enough.  
  
“I have to do what’s right, Theon. Tell me, what’s right here?” Robb sounded desperate, and Theon knew the time was right.  
  
“What’s right? Well you know me, Robby, I don’t know a whole hell of a lot about what’s right. I always left that up to you and your pops. But I’ll tell you two things, and then you tell me what you think is right, yeah?”  
  
Their eyes met, and the way Robb was looking at him made Theon feel wretched. It was as if his friend was begging him to fix things, to tell him everything was going to be all right. Which was exactly what he was planning on doing, albeit in a less than truthful manner.  
  
“Okay, first of all, yeah, the wine is a Greyjoy product. A very...exclusive product, though. It’s not for sale, it’s only for, hmm... “friends” of the family, let’s say.” Robb raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t interrupt. “Remember the label?”  
  
“Matte black, had a crow with a ruby-red eye,” Robb said, sounding for all the world like he was reading it out of his detective’s notebook.  
  
“Mmhmm. Well, what if I told you that, in the family, my Uncle Euron had a nickname. Crow’s Eye. On account of his patch, and all...” Theon wasn’t actually sure if Euron had lost an eye, or if he just enjoyed unnerving people with his patch.  
  
Robb blinked twice in fast succession. “Wait, really? Okay, so, what? He sends this exclusive bottle of wine to people that are gonna die?” Theon waited patiently for the gears to keep turning in Robb’s head. “Ohhh, to people that he wants dead! But even if he did send Mace Tyrell and Virginia Hewitt those bottles of wine, as a, I don’t know, a warning, that doesn’t mean that _he,_ specifically, killed them.”  
  
Theon nodded. “I know. But that doesn’t matter. If Euron ordered their deaths, which I would say is a good bet, considering they both ended up dead- we are assuming Tyrell is dead at this point, yes?” Robb nodded, and Theon went on. “All right, so if Euron ordered their deaths, isn’t he just as guilty of murder as whoever actually pulled the trigger?”  
  
“Well...yeah. I suppose so.” Robb looked troubled, though. “But-”  
  
“And wouldn’t you rather bring him in, rather than whichever lackey he had actually do the deed?”  
  
“I’d rather have them both!” Robb replied. “Doesn’t this bother you at all, Theon? This is your _family,_ for Christ’s sake...what if this ‘lackey’ you’re talking about was one of your other uncles? Or your sister?” There was a dangerous look in Robb’s eyes, and an unspoken question seemed to dangle at the end of his little diatribe. _What if it was_ you?  
  
The ice was cracking beneath his feet...Theon could almost feel the unstable balance between him and his partner beginning to break up, threatening to dump him in icy waters far over his head. Clearly, suggestion and inference were only going to go so far; it was time to get down to brass tacks.  
  
“It wasn’t Asha. Trust me, she doesn’t get her hands that dirty. And before you ask, neither do I.” Theon looked Robb directly in the eyes as he spoke, willing him to believe.  
  
Robb held his gaze for half a beat before letting out a long breath. “I never said you did. Anyways, I’m sure Euron would only trust a job like that to someone far more involved in his...organization. Yeah?”  
  
“You got it, pal. Now, whaddya say we go talk to Selmy and ol’ Stick-up-his-ass Stannis and get ourselves a warrant, hmm?”  
  
\-----  
  
A warrant was easy enough to come by, but Euron was another matter. While he was known for being somewhat reclusive, he’d become simply impossible to find since the word had gotten out that they were looking to bring him in. They staked out the Blue Room three Thursdays running, permanently stationed Thoros across the street from Madame Chatayaya’s uptown, and sent Beric Dondarrion in to the underground poker game Euron played in on Sunday nights. Thoros fell in love with a whore named Daisy, Dondarrion consistently lost his shirt, and meanwhile, nobody around town had seen Euron in weeks.  
  
“You know what you gotta do, Greyjoy.” Robb finally said one afternoon, balling up a sheet of paper and tossing over the expanse of their desks. “So just get it over with.”  
  
He did know, better than Robb could’ve guessed, and _G_ _oddamn_ did it piss him off. They hadn’t discussed this at all, but Theon had assumed that Euron would allow himself to be brought in with a minimum of fuss. Clearly, that was not the case. Either he’d decided not to trust Theon to follow the plan they’d laid out, and had made a run for it, or he was holed up somewhere, deliberately making their lives difficult. Whatever the case, Theon knew there was one place he would find the answers he was looking for.  
  
It was grey and dreary, the sort of late winter day that did nothing for Theon’s mood. The alley behind Asha’s joint was a river of dirty slush, soaking the hems of his pants in the few steps it took to get inside. The place was nearly empty, with only a few lonely souls bellied up to the bar.  
  
When his sister saw him, she gave him an odd little half-smile and nodded at her office door. “Be right with ya, Detective.” She laughed delightedly as the men at the bar stood as one and scurried for the door. “‘Bye now!”  
  
“What was that all about?” Theon asked her as she came around the bar and slipped her arm through his.  
  
“Oh, two of those fellas have a tab so high I shouldn’t even serve ‘em any more, and the other one’s too drunk to see straight anyway. I’d rather come talk with my baby brother than pour hooch for one more second.”  
  
Theon blinked, surprised at her warmth, but when she ushered him into her office, the brilliant smile she gave their Uncle Vic, who was stretched out on her sofa smoking a cigar, made her eagerness more transparent. Still, he was surprised that she’d send away even one paying customer, knowing as he did the way Euron pressured her to make a tidy profit.  
  
“What the Hell’s going on?” He flopped down in a club chair, ignoring Asha when she sat on the arm of his chair and ruffled his hair. “We’ve had the damn warrant for three weeks now...did he change his mind, or something?”  
  
He’d been talking to Asha, but it was Vic who answered him. “You didn’t think he’d make it easy, did ya? He’s waiting on Pyke, and he says if you want him, you’re gonna have to come get him.”  
  
“Oh for Christssake...” Theon batted Asha’s hand away and slumped down in the chair a little more. “Getting to Pyke in this weather is a pain in the ass, and we’re gonna have to come with everything we’ve got, because God knows everyone remembers the last raid on Pyke.”  
  
Theon himself did, for a certainty, and it made his chest feel all tight just thinking about it. Judging by Asha and Vic’s expressions, the memory was clear in their minds as well. _Well, of course it is..._ Vic had taken at least one bullet that night, he knew. _And Asha..._  
  
Theon could still recall the exact moment he’d known something was wrong. He’d been asleep in his cold little room, so far from the main wing of the house, when a sharp elbow to the ribs had woken him up. “Theon, get up!” Asha was there, in his room, in a too-short nightgown, her face white in the moonlight streaming through the window. “Come on, hurry up. They’re coming!”  
  
He hadn’t know who ‘they’ were, not then, but the urgency in his sister’s voice had been unmistakable. She’d dragged him down the hall and up a flight of stairs to the seldom-used attic. They’d watched together through a grubby window in the eaves as Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark had led a team of men up the island, hand in hand. They’d seen Maron fall from the wide front veranda, half his face blown off with one shot from Baratheon’s double-barreled shotgun; Asha had gripped his hand tightly at that point, and hissed at him not to cry.  
  
The entire raid had unfolded right before their eyes: their Uncle Aeron being taken at gunpoint by a federal agent when he tried to sneak up on them from behind, Uncle Vic running out of ammunition and taking out three cops with the axe he used to chop firewood with a bullet still lodged in his shoulder, and finally, their father coming out, hands raised high. Asha had been stoic through the entire firefight, but at that, she cried out. Theon remembered it so clearly, all of it, but the way Asha had pounded a fist against the window as she cried, angry even in her grief, stood out. He’d never seen his sister cry before then, not even when she’d fallen and broken her leg while climbing on the cliffs.  
  
Shaking his head, Theon brought himself back to the present. “If that’s how he wants to play it...”  
  
“The Drowned God knows Euron’s never made anything easy for anyone, so I don’t know why you thought he’d start now.” Vic blew a smoke ring in Theon’s general direction. “Anyway, ice on the bay’s breakin’ up quick this year...you should be able to get out there in the next few days. Let me know when, I wanna be there to see you put the cuffs on ‘im.”  
  
“Probably not the best idea, Unc.” Theon stood, finished with this conversation and his troublesome family. “They’d probably slap a pair on you, too. You are his right-hand man, after all.”  
  
The threat, lazily it was delivered, didn’t faze Vic at all. “Bah,” he waved a hand at Theon as he moved for the door. “I’m not scared of you and that Stark kid. Just make sure you set it all up like we talked about.”  
  
Theon left, not bothering to answer. He knew the plan, inside and out, not that it was all that complicated. They’d hammered out the details together, Asha and his uncles and him. And as tempting as it was to fuck his uncle over thoroughly and renege on their deal, he wasn’t that stupid. This was the best way to solve the Tyrell problem once and for all.  
  
\-----  
  
Pyke loomed in the distance, a hulking, indistinct mass in the fog that hung over the bay. The Coast Guard boat they’d commandeered rode low in the water, steadily chugging through the myriad chunks of ice that had yet to melt. Theon stood at the prow of the boat alone with his hands in his pockets. He’d left the driving gloves Mya had given him for Christmas at his desk, not wanting to ruin the soft leather with salt spray, but now his hands were frozen solid. He glanced back at Robb in the small wheelhouse and shook his head. His partner was wearing a pair of thick woolen mittens with wolves’ heads running around the bottom, clearly throwing any self-respect he had to the wind. Theon had a pair of his own in plain black, buried somewhere in his sock drawer...Sansa had been on quite the knitting kick for a few months there.  
  
“Aren’t you cold out here, son?” A heavy hand, encased in respectable leather gloves, clamped down on his shoulder with enough force to make him wince. Selmy never did know his own strength.  
  
“No, sir.” He smiled, and tried to keep the bitterness he felt off his face. “We’re used to it, we Greyjoys. Nothing like a brisk wind coming off the bay to get your blood up.” The look Selmy gave him was inscrutable, and Theon had a sudden thought. “You’ve been here before, haven’t you? Yeah, as old as you are, no offense, you’d’ve been on that squad, no doubt...”  
  
Selmy took the question in stride. “I was. Thoros, too.” He nodded back at the wheelhouse. “He was a green kid back then, and still on the booze. He left a trail of chum behind boat the whole way out to the island.”  
  
“Oh yeah? I always heard it was a rookie who got my brother Rodrik...” They were approaching the island now, headed for the little-used dock at the foot of the cliffs. It was suicide for anybody without the seafaring skills of the Greyjoys to try for the cove around the back of the island, so they’d have to risk the hike up the cliffs. Theon kept his eyes on the rocks ahead, waiting for Selmy to answer.  
  
“Your brother Rodrik pulled a double-barrelled shotgun on us, and was shot by Jason Mallister, who later quit the force to run his father’s business.” The chief’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact, as if he were trying to keep Theon from losing it. “Your brother Maron was shot by-”  
  
“I saw that part,” Theon interrupted, reaching for the line looped around a nearby cleat. “Bob Baratheon shot him. And-” He shook his head. It was all ancient history, at this point, why argue over it now? He didn’t even know why he’d asked Selmy about it in the first place.  
  
“Theon...” Selmy sounded older now, less sure of himself. “What happened...with your brothers? I’m sorry-”  
  
“Why?” Theon looped the line around his shoulder and hopped over the gunwale and onto the dock. His eyes met Selmy’s for a brief moment, and he hated the pity he saw there. Behind the chief, Robb and the others were reluctantly leaving the warmth of the wheelhouse behind. “I’m not. I hated my brothers.”  
  
By the time they were halfway up the cliff trail, Theon was still trying to figure out why he’d said that. Not that it wasn’t true...he had hated his brothers, with all the indignant hatred a seven year-old boy could muster. But that was his family, his blood...much as he’d hated his brothers, it still wasn’t right that they’d been gunned down by a bunch of overzealous cops.  
  
Theon hadn’t been on the cliff trail in years, and when they came up over the edge into the long shadows thrown by the house, a chill snaked down his back. From this angle, he was seeing the house as Bob Baratheon and Ned Stark had seen it all those years ago. Right there, where a shutter had fallen and been left to lay, was where Maron had lain, bleeding in the crabgrass. The dirty attic window that he and Asha had watched from was boarded up now, he saw.  
  
They picked through the snow drifts that had formed in the wide front yard like frozen waves and stopped at the steps to the front porch. Everyone was looking at him, Theon saw. “Welcome to Pyke,” he said with a sweeping, mocking gesture. “You’d think a criminal mastermind would’ve fixed the place up a bit, yeah?”  
  
That drew a subdued laugh, and gave them enough forward momentum to follow him up the rickety old steps. Theon could feel them all massed at his back as he knocked at the front door. Robb was close enough he could feel his breath on his neck, and smell the cinnamon roll he’d had for breakfast. Part of him wished they’d all just back off, but it was nice to know they were ready to back him up.  
  
An elderly maid answered the door, her eyes widening for half a second before she lowered them to the floor. “Master Theon...” She spoke to Theon’s shoes and her voice quavered slightly. “Your uncle asked me to show you to the study when you arrived. He didn’t say nothin’ about...” Her eyes flicked to the group of men at his back. “Them.” The disgust in her voice was faint, but recognizable.  
  
He remembered this woman, he realized. She’d been with the family for decades, and had doted on him as a young boy. Clearly she remembered the last time Kingsport’s finest had come calling on Pyke. “They’ll be coming too, Esther.” She stepped aside to let them through the door, and Theon was struck by a sudden, inexplicable urge to look her in the eyes. “What is it?” He asked, lifting her face up with a finger under her chin. Her eyes were watery with age and tears. “Tell me what’s wrong.” He’d meant to be comforting to this old woman, but his voice sounded cold and harsh to his own ears, and he could feel Robb flinch behind him.  
  
“It ain’t right, Master Theon.” Esther drew herself up and smoothed her apron nervously. “It just ain’t right, you bein’ here like this. With them...” She glared at Robb and the others. “I knew when that horrid man took you away...” Whatever she’d once known, she’d evidently forgotten it. She just trailed off, shaking her head.  
  
Theon had no idea how to respond to that, so he just shrugged. Robb, ever the polite one, thanked her for letting them in, despite her description of his dead father as a ‘horrid man’. They’d made it halfway down the dark hall before Theon thought of something rather important.  
  
“Esther,” he called out. “Is he armed?” She stared at him dumbly, still smoothing her apron. “Does he have a gun on him, Esther?”  
  
She stared at him a moment longer, and he realized her gaze wasn’t brainless so much as scornful. “O’course he does. I ain’t never known a Greyjoy to go without one, have you?” And before any of them could so much as blink, she slammed the front door and left them alone in the hall.  
  
As one, the group of men pulled their guns out, and Theon cocked his. He wasn’t expecting any trouble, of course, but he wanted to oversell his part, if anything. The study was in the back of the house, down a series of dark, narrow corridors. The wallpaper was peeling from the walls in great swaths, showing mouldering plaster underneath and obscuring murky old portraits of Greyjoys and Harlaws dead for years.  
  
Robb was looking around, wide-eyed, and he poked Theon in the back with his pistol. “Look, that one kind of looks like you!” He was whispering loud enough for the entire house to hear.  
  
Theon looked where Robb gestured. The portrait was the one that had always scared him as a boy, the one that depicted his dead uncle Urri. “It does not,” he hissed back. “Now shut up and get your gun away from my kidneys, will ya?”  
  
Presently, they made their way to the study. The door was wide open, and Euron was stretched out on a sofa in front of the fire, an open book laid across his chest. A fire roared in the fireplace, and the room was almost uncomfortably warm. Just standing in the doorway, Theon was beginning to sweat. Thankfully, he could see his uncle’s gun, a pistol with silver inlaid in the grip, laying harmlessly on the desk. That was one less thing to worry about, in any case.  
  
“Is he... _sleeping?_ ” Robb poked Theon in the back again, with a knuckle this time.  
  
“I don’t know how anyone could sleep with you clomping around like a herd of elephants, Detective Stark.” Euron answered without opening his eyes. “Even your father was more subtle than you, and that’s saying something.” Theon struggled mightily to hold back a snort, possibly breaking a rib in the process, and his uncle cracked his eye. “You’re not much better, nephew. Now, what can I help you gentlemen with?”  
  
“You’re under arrest,” Theon blurted out.  
  
His uncle raised an eyebrow, and sat up on his elbows. The book on his chest slipped down, and Euron put a finger in it to mark his place. “For?”  
  
“For the murder of Mace Tyrell.” They were still on fairly iffy ground in terms of actually getting a murder charge to stick, but Theon knew that didn’t matter.  
  
“Mmm, I see.” Euron stood, glancing at the page of his book before he handed it to Robb. “Well, let’s get this over with then, shall we? Oh, and would you be so kind as to let the staff know I’ll be leaving, so they can damp this fire? Wouldn’t want to burn the old place down, after all.”  
  
He let Theon cuff him and lead him from the room with a calmness that was almost eerie; if he hadn’t known how this was all going to go down, Theon would’ve been more than a little terrified. As it was, the trip back down the cliffside trail was hair-raising enough, what with one of them in handcuffs. The boat was idling away when they finally made it to the dock, and Euron sneered at the clunky craft.  
  
“ _That’s_ what you came in? I wouldn’t haul shit in that thing.”  
  
“Me neither, actually.” Dondarrion said, taking Euron’s elbow as Theon clambered aboard. “That’s why we thought it’d be perfect for you. Now, in you go.” He was less than gentle as he guided Euron over the edge of the boat.  
  
The tide was working with them, and the little boat managed to make it away from Pyke without being dashed against the cliffs. The bay had grown choppy in the short time they were on the island and floating chunks of dirty ice scraped against the hull with alarming regularity. Still, Euron seemed reluctant to enter the wheelhouse with the men, and Theon thought he understood.  
  
“Go on,” he waved at Robb, who was hesitating outside the door. When he’d turned back, Euron was standing at the prow, where Theon himself had stood on the way out to Pyke. He went to stand beside his uncle, hanging on to the slick railing for support. “Think this is gonna work?”  
  
“Undoubtedly,” Euron said. He swayed with the rocking of the boat, but even with his hands behind his back, his balance was impeccable. “You performed admirably, nephew.” He glanced at Theon, his expression unreadable. “Was it strange for you, coming to Pyke with...them?”  
  
A strange, hot feeling rose in Theon’s throat, and all he could do was nod his reply. The trip had been strange, had aroused in him conflicting emotions that he’d spent a long, long time trying to shove aside or fuck away. He had no idea how to explain this to his uncle, nor the inclination to try, but Euron seemed to understand, all the same.  
  
“Yes, I suppose it would be. Well, don’t worry yourself about it. You’ve played the hand I dealt you very well, and that’s really all one can hope for, in the end.” Theon had the strangest notion that if his uncle hadn’t been handcuffed, he would’ve put an arm around his shoulder. It made his skin crawl, but the approval in Euron’s voice wormed its way past Theon’s defenses, surprisingly seductive. “Now, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to say goodbye to Pyke, as I won’t be home for quite some time.”  
  
“Of course.” Theon knew that feeling perhaps better than anyone.


	13. Leaps and Bounds

Mya heard the phone ringing in the kitchen from the porch as Theon fumbled with his keys. It was late on a Thursday night, the first week of March, and the month had come roaring in with one blustery, wet day after another.

****

“Goddammit,” Theon muttered. Mya was huddled against his back, arms full of books she’d taken from Queenscrown’s library as part of a research project, and her back was aching from the weight of her bag, also stuffed with books and homework. Even though her last semester was half-over and graduation was looming on the horizon, her professors weren’t about to start taking it easy on the homework now.

****

“Hurry up, Theon, it’s freezing.” Her teeth chattered as a gust of wind blew a smattering of cold rain against them.

****

“I know, dove, but you know how the door swells when it’s wet out- there.” Theon planted his shoulder against the door and shoved it open, pulling her in after and reaching for the phone on the wall. “Yeah?”

****

Mya shrugged out of her heavy coat, and dumped her books on the kitchen table. She rubbed her lower back, not missing Theon’s smile at the gesture. Well into her fourth month of pregnancy now, Mya had given up trying to hide her burgeoning belly. Theon seemed quite keen on her new curves, taking his time exploring them more nights than not.

****

Theon tucked the phone under his chin and nodded at a kitchen chair. When Mya sank down into it, he pulled out the other one and propped one of her legs up across his lap as he sat.

****

“When’s it happening?” He eased her shoe off and rubbed his thumb up the arch of her foot, and Mya’s eyes began to glaze over. “That soon?” Theon sighed. “Yeah I know- no, I know, it’s just been a long week and I don’t need you shrieking like a dental drill at me. Alright. Fine. We’ll talk next week.”

****

Without waiting for a response he reached back and hung up the phone, still cupping Mya’s foot in his palm. “What was that all about? And rub harder, that’s starting to tickle.”

****

Theon obliged, and after a second he gave her a wide smile. “What d’you say we pack up and head to Winterfell?”

****

Mya shrugged. “This weekend? I suppose we can, but there’s still going to be a ton of snow up there. We could go south for a bit, or out to Tarth?”

****

“No, no.” Theon was already shaking his head as he motioned for her other foot. “Winterfell, tonight. C’mon, it’s been a long week and you look exhausted .God knows I am.”

****

“Theon...” Mya pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and heard the frustration in her voice. He had a point, though. Euron’s arrest had hit the press like a bomb. Her colleagues at the _Lantern_ seemed torn between giving her space and wanting desperately to pick her brain, as if she knew the intimate details of the Greyjoy crime empire. Rival newspapers wanted in on her side of the story too, and seemed bitter that she and Garlan had gotten the scoop on Virginia Hewitt’s death as well. A few called just to be snide to her, it seemed. One of them had run a picture of her and Theon, taken on the sly at the Hewitt residence a few weeks previous. It wasn’t _that_ damning, really. It just showed them in what they’d thought was a private moment, with Theon kissing her forehead after finding her sick. The rival paper, of course, had spun it into some overblown drama that accused the Kingsport Police Department of leaking vital information to the _Lantern_ , and of rampant favoritism and corruption. It had been easy enough for the _Lantern_ to rebuff the story and demand a retraction, and Garlan had told Mya not to worry about it.

****

“If you knew half the things they’ve tried to report about my family...” He’d chuckled and trailed off. Mya decided to take his advice to heart and had snipped the picture out of the rival paper, propping it up against a cut-glass vase on her desk. It was a good picture, after all.

****

The selfsame reporters who were after her story were gunning for Theon as well. For the first few days, they’d called Riverrun’s main line day and night until the number for their cottage had ‘leaked’. Two days after that Theon had paid a nominal charge to have the number changed, and blessed silence had fallen. Mya knew that Euron’s arrest had both lifted the weight off of Theon’s shoulders and hung it around his neck instead - there was still so much that could go wrong. _Euron could still betray us._

****

For his part though, Euron seemed almost gleeful in the jailhouse interviews he gave. He candidly admitted to killing not only Mace Tyrell, but his driver and Virginia Hewitt too. When asked why he’d murdered the newspaper magnate, he’d replied that Mace was about to set out on a campaign to smear his family’s name, and he’d done it for the greater good.

****

“And Mrs. Hewitt?” One reporter had asked.

****

Here Euron leaned forward in his chair, grinning cattily while his court-appointed lawyer sweated and was ignored. “If you’d spent ten minutes with that dried up old hag you’d want her dead too.” He crossed his legs, resting his shackled hands on a knee. “She and I had a brief...acquaintance, and she couldn’t accept that I have moved on. She was _clingy._ ”

****

“Mya?” Theon jiggled her foot and she dropped her hands away, blinking. She didn’t know one hundred percent what the plan for Euron was now that Stannis was working feverishly on getting prepared for trial. She was afraid to ask, and Theon seemed content to not talk about it.

****

“Even if I say no you’re going to wait until I fall asleep and chuck me in the car anyway, aren’t you.”

****

“I might not be able to. You’ve gotten a little heavy lately, y’know.”

****

Mya’s eyes snapped open. “What! Listen, you, I’ve barely gained anything at all and even if I _have_ it’s your fau-”

****

Theon was laughing as he pulled her to her feet and kissed her into silence. “I’m just pulling your leg, sweetheart, now hush. And yes, I will throw you in the car after you fall asleep. _And_ I’ll pack for you, and you know what that means.”

****

Mya smiled in spite of herself. “You’re just going to pack that little black bra that you like, aren’t you.”

****

“I was thinking just your lipstick and toothbrush.”

****

Thirty minutes later she curled up against Theon’s side as they rolled out of town. Their bags, plus her school books, were piled in the backseat, and the windshield wipers were swishing back and forth against the light mist that was falling. Theon was playing with her hair, idly twining a lock of it through his fingers while he kept his other hand on the steering wheel, and the gentle, repetitive touch was making her eyes grow heavy. One thing kept pinging at the back of her mind though, like a limb regaining feeling. “Theon?”

****

“Hmm?”

****

Mya sat up, looking at her husband in the glow of the streetlights washing over the car. “Why are we really going out of town?”

****

He glanced over at her as he turned left onto the main road out of Kingsport. “It’s like I said - we’ve both had long weeks and we just need to get away.”

****

“But...we could go to a hotel, someplace closer, and just not tell anyone. Just hole up there for a few days.” Mya played with his fingers. “Is this something to do with your uncle?” Theon’s face took on a closed look she didn’t like. “Please, sweetheart, just tell me. No secrets, remember?”

****

“It’s not about secrets. It’s more about plausible deniability. If this all comes crashing down I don’t want you to have to lie. You’re still not very good at it, y’know.” Mya didn’t respond, just raised her eyebrows a quarter inch, and Theon sighed. “There are certain events that are set to happen soon. And we have to be far, far away from them when they do.” He laced his fingers through hers and kissed her fingertips. “That’s all you really want to know right now, trust me.”

****

The Rolls had stopped at a rural intersection. They were the only car around, and the only other sign of life was a faint yellow light from a farmhouse miles away. Theon turned to face her fully, his expression inscrutable. “I know how much I’ve asked of you since we’ve met. And I know it isn’t fair. Sometimes I wonder if you wouldn’t have been better off with Jory.”

****

“Oh hush.” Mya smiled in the dark. “Jory’s nice enough, but I like _you_ , remember? And anyway, Jory’s not nearly as good a kisser as you are.”

****

“Hey, what’s this now?”

****

“I’m just yankin’ your chain, Detective. Relax.” Mya slid closer to him on the bench seat and kissed him softly. “Do you remember what I said that first night I stayed with you?”

****

“You said a lot of things.”

****

“Not as many as you did. I told you I’d made my choice though, didn’t I.”

****

She could see Theon trying to remember the conversation they’d had that night and got the distinct impression that once their clothes had started to come off he’d stopped remembering words. He was quiet for a long while. “Do you ever regret it?”

****

“No.” Mya replied instantly. “Not even for a second.”

****

She thought he might have smiled a little. “C’mon dove, you don’t have to sugarcoat it. I know I’m not the easiest guy to get on with. God knows you wouldn’t be the first to tell me that.”

****

“I’m not sugarcoating anything! Sure, you’re not easy, but you’re not boring either.” Mya looked down at her hands, suddenly shy. “I’ve hardly known you six months but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

****

Theon cupped the back of her head, returning her kiss with a soft, uncharacteristic gentleness. “You’re too good for me.”

****

“I know.” Mya replied. “Now, unless you intend for us to spend the night at this intersection you’d better get the lead out.”

****

“Alright, alright.” Theon shifted the car back into drive and draped his arm over Mya’s shoulders. “Why don’t you try to get some shut-eye? We’re not going to get up there before midnight.”

****

The idea of sleep was tempting, almost unreasonably so. “What about you? You’re just as wiped out as I am.”

****

Theon shrugged and shifted his arm till her head rested on his shoulder. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got enough coffee in me to keep me going for at least a week. You just sleep now, yeah?”

****

Mya scooted closer, resting her hand on his stomach. Her eyes grew heavy as they headed north, and before they reached Rosby she was fast asleep.

****

The next day Theon was insistent that they get out of the expansive lodge of Winterfell, explore the small town just down the road. He nudged Mya awake just after dawn, much to her chagrin.

****

“I thought we were supposed to be relaxing up here,” she muttered, face buried in her pillow. She was warm and perfectly content to remain cocooned in the large, soft bed somewhere in Winterfell for the rest of the day.

****

Theon sprawled on top of her, rubbing his stubbly jaw against her throat. “We are relaxing. We just...y’know, need to be seen relaxing.”

****

“Can we be seen this afternoon instead?” Mya squirmed slightly; Theon’s hip was pressing into her belly and reminding her of a pressing need. “Now get off me, I have to pee. And you’re squishing the baby.”

****

He rolled off her obligingly but kept his face tucked against her shoulder. Pushing her worn flannel nightshirt away, Theon nibbled along Mya’s collarbone. “C’mon, dove, there’s this great little ma-and-pop place in town and if we get there early enough we’ll beat the rush.” Mya didn’t respond, just tugged the blankets higher. “They’ve got the best French toast you’ve ever wrapped those lips around. Slices thick as a phone book. Fresh strawberries in the summer, but I’d bet you anything they’ve got lingonberries this time of year.”

****

Much to her chagrin Mya’s stomach rumbled at the mention of French toast. “Alright, fine, but I _need_ to make some ground on my paper. It’s sixty percent of my grade.”

****

She felt Theon grin against her chest and start to work a hand up the inside of her thigh. “So call in your favor with Lannister from that night Leo’s under Savoy got busted.”

****

“It’s not for his class and stop that.” Mya wrapped her fingers around Theon’s wrist with palpable reluctance. “You can’t have French toast and your wife for breakfast. And I still have to pee.”

****

It was close to evening by the time they returned to Winterfell. The winter town had proven to be drowsy and quiet, and it reminded Mya of Eyrie. The shops and merchants had been nearly ecstatic to see customers, and on more than one occasion Theon had had to pull her away from their counters before she bankrupted them. His one concession had been a tiny knitted winter hat and mittens, and he’d only agreed to that because Mya hadn’t stopped talking about it all afternoon.

****

“I still think I should’ve gotten a pink one and a blue one, just in case.” She bit her bottom lip as she examined the little cap, running her fingers over the green and cream snowflake pattern.

****

“No son of mine will be caught dead in anything pink.” Theon shucked his wool coat off and picked up one of the mittens, slipping a finger inside of it. “Sure these’ll fit?” He pushed himself up onto the kitchen counter and wiggled his mittened finger.

****

“Of course they will, and for all you know it could still be a girl.” Mya wrapped her arms loosely around his waist. She was chilled to the bone and couldn’t understand how her whippet-thin husband wasn’t.

****

“You remember what Asha said - she’s the first girl in the Greyjoy family in-”

****

“-five generations, I know. But she _is_ a girl-”

****

“-in theory-”

****

Mya poked him. “Shush. Just ask your Uncle Vic. Apparently he’s the expert on that. Anyway, she is a girl, which just goes to prove that you Greyjoys can make girl babies and there’s nothing saying we’re not having one.” She burrowed her cold nose against his neck, making him jump. “And I’d bet you we are.”

****

“Jesus woman, are you made of ice?” Theon seized her hands in his, blowing on them. “You’d think I made you ride on the outside of the car.”

****

“It was twenty degrees in there! I don’t understand why you don’t just get one of those portable heaters in there. The girls down at the paper say they work really well.”

****

“I like to keep it cold in there.” Theon slipped the mitten off his finger and hopped down from the counter. “ Keeps you close.”

****

“Come summer you’re going to be up the creek then, Detective. Now come upstairs and fix me a bath, would you? I’d like to thaw out before dinner.” She took his hands and tugged him towards the stairs. They weren’t staying in the grand master suite, despite Theon’s wheedling that it was _fine_ , they were the only ones here and Cat wouldn’t mind. It didn’t feel right to Mya to sleep in the same bed where Catelyn and her late husband had slept. So she pulled him up another flight of stairs and down a hall to a comfortable room near the empty servant’s quarters - Mya knew that if this hadn’t been such a spur of the moment trip they’d have at least 6 people to tend to their every whim, and that felt odd in itself. She wasn’t used to other people taking care of her like that. Fortunately, Theon didn’t count as ‘other people’.

****

Mya perched on the edge of their unmade bed and nodded towards the bathroom. “Go on then, if you could. Not too hot now. And not too many bubbles either.”

****

Theon arched an eyebrow and paused in rolling up his sleeves. “Anything else, m’lady?”

****

Eyeing  the sinewy muscles in his forearms, Mya let herself smile and tipped her chin up. “Be quick about it. I’m a busy girl and I’m certainly not getting any warmer.”

****

Theon pushed her onto her back, not ungently, and made to straddle her hips. “Demanding little thing all of a sudden, aren’t we?”

****

“Maybe,” she grinned, pushing herself up on her elbows. “Don’t want you to get bored now.”

“Trust me, dove, the last thing I am with you is bored.” He leaned in to kiss her, which led to another, and another, and before long he pulled her astride his lap and she was plenty warm. By now she could undress Theon as easily as she could herself and she did so impatiently, eager to feel him against her, in her. His hands slid up her thighs, unhooking her stockings while their lips met again, and she shoved his shirt off his shoulders. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him, and they fell into a familiar rhythm.

****

Mya gripped the wrought-iron headboard and watched Theon beneath her. He seemed relaxed, lips curving up in a slight smile while his fingers tripped over her ribs. She loved him like this, with all the posturing and male machismo stripped away, all the cockiness gone. His hands gripped her hips, and she smiled as she leaned down to kiss him. _Well, most of the cockiness._

****

After, she nudged a few pieces of clothing off the bed with her foot, listening to his breath under her ear. He traced her belly idly with a finger. “You still cold?”

****

“Mm-mm, I’m pretty toasty now. Hungry, though.” Mya rested her chin on his chest and gazed up at him. “Today was fun.”

****

“What, stumping around a one-stoplight town leaving a paper trail to cover my ass if need be?”

****

“Well, not when you put it like that.” She frowned. “Just the two of us. We didn’t have to worry about work or school or...anything.” _Or your uncle_ , she’d been about to say, but even the thought of Euron cast a pall over her good mood. She was dying to know, really, what was going on that had driven Theon from Kingsport so quickly, but she bit her tongue. _Be patient. Trust him. He hasn’t lied to you yet, and he’s not about to start._

****

Theon’s stomach rumbled, and she raised her eyebrows. “Work up an appetite, did you?”

****

“As always.” Theon sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and reached for a bundle of black silk. “Here, come downstairs with me and help me cook something.”

****

Mya wrapped the robe around herself. It had been a birthday present from Theon the month past, and while it was something she’d never buy for herself, she had to admit she loved the luxurious feel of the fabric against her skin. She smoothed her hands over her hips and smiled, feeling the small embroidered birds that dotted the robe.

****

As Theon was digging around for the loose drawstring pants he usually slept in, the phone near the bedroom door jangled loudly and Mya felt the corner of her eye twitch. _I swear to God if they’ve found us up here with more questions..._ She watched Theon as he strode across the room, smiling to herself as her eyes traveled over his bare body, his narrow hips, long legs...she hoped whoever it was was just a wrong number. 

****

“Hello?” Theon glanced down at her, his eyes guarded. Mya’s stomach fell - they’d been able to forget Kingsport and all it entailed for a few short hours but she had no doubt it was all about to come roaring back. She crossed the room quickly and took his hand, looking up at him with mute questions. His lips pressed together and he pulled her closer.

****

\-----------

_It’s windy here_ , Mya thought. _It’s always windy here._

****

And so it was. A small mass of people stood huddled on the cliffs making up Pyke’s eastern end, and the stiff wind that buffeted them was straight off the mainland. It tugged at her black dress, made a mess of her hair, and made her tuck her hand around Theon’s arm so she wouldn’t be blown over. They, and the others, had come to pay their last respects to Euron Greyjoy.

****

There were several faces Mya recognized, but many others she did not. Asha was on Theon’s other side, of course, with Victarion beside her, all grim and silent in greys and blacks as was required of them. Mya got the distinct impression, though, that part of Victarion was about to break out in a gleeful softshoe routine, and the image that brought to her mind made her bite the inside of her cheek hard. _This is a funeral. Be respectful._

****

Aeron Greyjoy stood before the crowd in the same mottled robes he’d married Mya and Theon in and paid no heed to the wind tearing at him. His words were hard to hear, but a few made it to her ears. “...and so we commend the...soul of your servant Euron into your hands, Lord God, that you may view his as a life lived after your own design and that he may reap his rewards.”

****

_If by ‘rewards’ he means a serrated cheese-grated straight up the..._ Theon shifted next to Mya, covering her hand with his own. Aeron was unscrewing the lid to a plain black urn and lifting it, turning it to the wind. A cloud of grey ash drifted out and was immediately torn apart, carried far out over the white-capped bay.

****

_A car accident. It seems so...anticlimactic._ Mya pulled her heavy sweater closer around here as Aeron droned on. Theon had hung up the phone at Winterfell and had been quiet for a moment before telling her that it had been Robb on the phone; there had been an accident while Euron was being transported from the county jail to Bitterbridge - the road was twisted, narrow and dark. The driver had lost control, flipped. The car had burned, Theon said, and so had the bodies inside, but Dr. Qyburn had been able to identify Euron’s remains by noted scars, as well as his missing eye. She’d had so many questions that night, and Theon had patiently answered every one of them.

****

Asha had leaned on the good doctor to release her uncle’s body fast citing religious reasons - the Greyjoys settled with their dead and settled fast. The religious reasons, as well as a bit of a kickback from Asha’s pocketbook, had ensured that Euron’s remains, cremated as requested, had been safely returned to his family barely thirty-six hours after his demise.

****

So it was on a sunny, windy March Sunday that Mya watched the last bits of Euron dance away on the wind. The crowd began to disperse, most heading back to the docks where several private boats and ferries waited to shuttle them back to the mainland. She squeezed Theon’s arm, pulling his gaze away from the horizon. “Is it over then?”

****

He smiled, the sun making his eyes crinkle. “It’s over.”

****

His words came back to her the next day as she set her purse on her desk at work. It was still early, and the newsroom was quiet. Mya took a breath, draping her sweater over the back of her chair, and resolved not to think anymore about Euron or-

****

“Greystone!” The double doors on the far end of the room swung open with a bang, and Garlan strode in, overcoat flapping. “What the _Hell_ happened this weekend?”

****

Mya winced and prayed she’d be able to play dumb. “Spring training started. I heard the Giants picked up a rookie out of Kansas that-”

****

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Garlan leaned against the edge of Mya’s desk, arms crossed, and she shrugged.

****

“His luck ran out, I guess. Theon and I were up North, we only got a call about it on Friday night.” She held her breath while Garlan traced a circle in his cheek with his tongue.

****

“Yeah, I know, and I’m sorry for your husband’s loss.” The words seemed to be forced, and Mya couldn’t blame him. “It’s just...Stannis was _this_ close to having the case ready against him and now...” He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “I really wanted to see the son of a bitch fry.”

****

Mya thought of the portrait downstairs in the lobby, of the candle that had been lit beneath it for months now. She thought of the feel of Theon’s hand in hers after he’d confessed to murder, the nights he’d woken up in a cold sweat from nightmares unrelated to Ramsay Bolton, the race of ice down her spine as she remembered Euron’s casual threat to pluck one of her eyes out and send it to Theon if he didn’t do his uncle’s will, the constant terror that he would get his hands on their child. _So did the rest of us._

****

Garlan sighed and stood. “What’s done is done, I suppose. Margie, Loras and Renly’ll be here soon, and they’re going to want to hit the presses first with this. Plus we’ve got a memorial service to start planning. Can you swing by the precinct today and see if there’s a copy of his deposition on file yet? It’ll come in handy.”

****

Mya nodded. “I can do it before class.”

****

“Good girl.” Garlan rested a hand on her shoulder, an unreadable look coming across his face. “You’ve done good with this story, Mya. It can’t be easy being on both sides of it like this, but you’ve kept yourself clean.”

****

“I...” Mya’s throat snapped shut suddenly, strangling her words. _I may as well have killed him myself._ She just nodded wordlessly. Her coworkers were due in soon, and they’d all be dying to pick her brain. It would take time to arrange her thoughts to what they should be, rather than what they were.

****

Fortunately, the interest in Euron’s death waned quickly - within a few weeks his name had faded out of the press entirely, and they’d moved on to whatever new crime lord was trying to take his place. Even the _Lantern_ seemed willing, if not eager, to put the past where it belonged. The Tyrells had received the closure they had longed for, even if it wasn’t complete. Garlan had said several times how he wished they’d been able to give Mace a proper, Christian burial, but they’d never be able to find his father’s remains. Time, currents, and sea life had seen to that. Meanwhile, Mya let herself become optimistic - sure, Theon was still making his late-night liquor runs for Asha, but without his uncle hanging over him he seemed to sleep easier, breathe easier, laugh more.

****

The nights that Theon was out made Mya felt like she was toeing along a ragged tightrope line. She had to batter down the urge to beg Theon to stop making these runs - he didn’t need to now. Euron was gone, and Asha wasn’t nearly as much of a threat to them. Between his salary with the police and her wages at the paper, they made more than enough to support themselves, so why take unnecessary risks? She couldn’t count on both hands how many times she nearly brought it up, only to stop at the last minute. She couldn’t bring herself to say Euron’s name out loud. It felt as though if she did she’d raise his spectre, half-burnt and smirking. So she kept quiet and kept herself busy while Theon made his deliveries.

****

By the end of April, the last of the long winter’s snow had finally melted, and the river behind their cottage was running high and fast. As the days began to stretch on longer, Theon and Mya began taking long walks in the evening, letting the sound of the wind in the newly green trees and burbling river carry away their worries. Most evenings, they wound up at a bend in the river where a patch of large, flat rocks had been deposited by some glacier or another millions of years ago - now flat and smooth, they absorbed the sun during the day and remained warm late into the night. Mya would sometimes pack a picnic dinner, and over sandwiches they’d talk about whatever might come to mind - Mya’s school, the rumors Theon heard of promotions for him and Robb, and most often, their child. Sometimes Theon would stroke her belly with the back of his hand absent-mindedly, and her heart would clench painfully. This had to be some sort of dream - what had she done to warrant such happiness?

****

Theon was convinced she was having a boy, one who’d inherit his father’s eagle eye for shooting and his no holds barred approach to everything from being the first one in his class to start shaving (Theon claimed he was eleven when he did, a  story Mya took with a grain of salt) to the baseball games he’d no doubt win single-handedly. Mya changed her mind every other day or so, imagining in turns the boy that Theon did, or a girl with her eyes and his smile who would break every heart in Kingsport if given half a chance.

****

May came and went, bringing an end to her college career. It took a few days for the fact to sink in that she’d never have another homework assignment to hand in, would never have another test to study for, would never have another professor to argue with. When it did she felt as though she could do cartwheels around Riverrun. Her joy was short-lived, though. No sooner had she received her diploma than Roslin had drafted her into helping with a flurry of last-minute wedding arrangements. It was a welcome change of pace, though, and much of June passed in a heartbeat.

****

The wedding happened with only a few small snags - a few drunk relatives, a few minor fisticuffs, but nothing that was unexpected, considering how many of the guests were Freys, and how many were members of the Kingsport Police Department. Mya thought the biggest drama may have been convincing Arya not to hack her pink-and-yellow bridesmaid’s dress off at the knees the second the wedding was over. The morning after the reception, Robb and Roslin were bustled off across the ocean to Paris, and a lazy summer calm fell over Kingsport.

****

July descended upon the city hot and stifling, bleaching sidewalks and wilting leaves and citizens alike. Fortunately the thick stone walls of Tyrell Plaza were hard to heat, and the building remained somewhat comfortable even as the mercury soared. Even still, the air would hang so still and thick that some days Mya swore she’d be able to cut it with a knife. One night towards the end of the month, she rested her head against the porcelain edge of the bathtub, letting her eyes drift shut. The rest of the small house was quiet; Theon was helping Jory and Gendry with a few things around Riverrun before Robb and Roslin returned.

****

Mya slid further into the cool water, resting a leg along the edge of the tub and listening to the night sounds outside. An owl hooted somewhere over the rushing river, and a light breeze rustled through the trees. She’d lit several candles and the flames flickered, but the humid air didn’t stir beyond that. _Maybe I could just stay here for the next month. Theon wouldn’t mind. He could put my typewriter right on the windowsill there and take my assignments in for me. It could work out._

****

The front door creaked, the latch clicking as Theon shut it behind him. “Mya?”

****

“In here.” The bathroom door was half-open and Theon poked his head in, raising his eyebrows.

****

“Are you ok?”

****

“Mmhmm.” Mya nodded. The water was at her chin now, and her belly had risen out of it, a perfectly round island. “Just hot.”

****

Theon perched on the edge of the tub and rested a bottle of Coke on the center of her belly, grinning to himself a little. “Hold that a sec, would you?”

****

“Least you could do is use a coaster.” Mya watched idly as he stripped his shirt off, splashing water from the sink on his face. “You’re going to leave water rings all over me.”

****

Resuming his perch, Theon leaned down and planted a kiss in her hair. “Sorry. You just make such a good end table right now.” He chuckled at her grumble. “It’s just a few more weeks, dove.”

****

“But it’s been 3 years already, it feels like.” She rested her head on his thigh while he toyed with her hair and squeezed her eyes shut again. There were tears pricking, and she didn’t want him to see. “I’m so tired, Theon. I just want the baby here already.”

****

“I know you do, sweetheart. You’re almost there.” Theon twined her hair through his fingers gently. “It’s almost August, that’s it. That’s all you need to do, yeah?” Despite her efforts a tear leaked out from between her lashes and rolled down her cheek, leaving a tiny damp spot on Theon’s pants. “What’s this now?”

****

Mya shrugged and steadied the bottle on her stomach. “I’m just...I just wish they’d stop giving me looks at work and I know the secretaries think it’s just unseemly that I’m working now, or that I want to go back after the baby’s born and what if I can’t, or what if I fall asleep or mess up on an article because I’m up all night with the baby? What if they grow up to be hoodlums or worthless because I wasn’t here when they were little or what if they think I don’t love them because-”

****

“Mya, Mya.” Theon was fighting off a grin when he tipped her face up to look at him. “Would you take a pill? You’re going to be a wonderful mother. And who said anything about you going back to work?”

****

“What do you mean?” Mya straightened in the tub. “Of course I’m going to, I thought that’s what we’d agreed on.” Truth be told they’d never agreed on anything as far as Mya’s job. They had discussed it of course, and Mya knew her husband assumed that, like most women, she would stay home after the baby came. Maybe if Mya hadn’t put as much effort and time into her position, she would’ve been more inclined to agree with him.

****

Theon raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to be a mother, Mya. Mothers don’t _work,_ you know that.”

****

“My mother did.”

****

“Yes, well, that’s different.” Theon plucked the bottle of Coke up again and took another long swallow, pausing at the look Mya gave him. “What?”

****

“How is it different?” Mya wasn’t angry, not yet. She could feel irritation simmering just under the surface, but she wanted to hear what Theon said next before she decided if she was going to get upset or not.

****

Seemingly sensing he was treading on thin ice, Theon took her hand and smiled pacifyingly. “It doesn’t matter, dove. C’mon now and come to bed. You’re all pruny and I’m beat.” He sighed at the look Mya gave him. “I’m not going to get into this discussion with you again. I’m tired, Mya, and just want to get some sleep.”

****

_You don’t know what tired is,_ Mya thought but she managed to hold her tongue until she’d clicked off her bedside lamp. Theon threw an arm across her stomach, fingers tracing idle patterns in her skin, and she knew he wasn’t sleeping either. “Why don’t you want me to work?”

****

Theon sighed. “It’s just not right. I know your mother did, but she had to. She was on her own. You don’t have to, dove. You should be at home with our kids.”

****

Oh, we’re having more than one now? Mya shushed herself. She was hot, tired and crabby and it wasn’t entirely Theon’s fault. She tried to pick her words carefully. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. If we didn’t have Roslin or Osha to help watch the baby maybe it’d be different but...I’ve put a lot into getting this job and I want to show people that I can do both.” _Even if I don’t know if I can._

****

“Ros and Osha aren’t the same as you.” Theon propped himself up on an elbow. “Kids need their mothers, not nannies or babysitters.”

****

The words hit just the wrong chord with her, as Theon was sometimes able to do. _He’s right, but...I love my job. I love my baby too, but what’m I supposed to do? Margaery won’t let me work with a baby in my arms._ She squeezed her eyes shut again, irritated that tears were forming again. “Can we just not talk about this right now? Please?” Her voice wavered and Theon’s hand tightened the slightest bit on her belly. She rolled onto her back and looked up at him in the dark. “Please?”

****

After a minute he nodded. “Sure thing.” He leaned down and kissed her, grinning a bit as the baby kicked. “Now sleep if he’ll let you.”

****

“Could still be a girl.” Mya grumbled.

****

“Another month, dove. And it’ll go fast.”

****

Of course it didn’t. Every doctor’s appointment Mya went to, the doctor would pat her reassuringly on the thigh and tell her “Just a few more weeks, Mrs. Greyjoy. No later than August 23rd, or I’ll eat my hat.”

****

Staring at her calendar at work, Mya glowered at the date. September 1st now, and she was no closer to having this baby than she was six weeks ago. The child seemed to be something of a joker, too. More times than she cared to count, her stomach would tighten at increasingly short intervals but the second she’d go to tell Theon it was time to go they’d stop. She felt like she hadn’t known true frustration until now. _That hat better have tasted flippin’ delicious, doc._

****

The wait was starting to grate on Theon too, she knew. He’d started watching her like a hawk, sharp eyes following her every move. Every time she lurched to her feet to use the bathroom, which was approximately every seven minutes these days, his dark head would pop up. “Are you ok?” he’d ask. “Is it time yet?”

****

Mya would simply shake her head. “Not yet.” It really was endearing, she knew, even when he’d suggested she stay home from work.

****

“Can you even fit behind your desk anymore?” He’d asked as he sat on their bed, pulling a shoe on one morning. Mya had glowered at him in the mirror and replied a little acidly.

****

“Yes, I can fit behind my desk, Theon.”

****

Theon had the good graces to at least look abashed and stood next to her, adjusting his tie in the mirror. “I just worry about you is all. I’d rather have you here at home in case something happens. The women are right up at the big house and they’d be able to get here in less than a minute.”

****

“But the hospital’s half an hour away.” Mya pointed out. It was so hard not to snap at him right now, but she was trying. _It’s not his fault. He’d’ve had the baby out weeks ago if he could’ve. It’s not his fault._ She shook her hair back, pinning it up off her neck. “I’m better off at work getting something done. Here I’d just sit on my duff all day and be fat.”

****

“Oh hush.” Theon had planted a kiss on her temple. “You’d sit on your duff all day and be gorgeous. C’mon, we’ve got to get moving. Robb’ll be waiting.”

****

_It has to happen some time or else the doctor’s going to do an operation._ The thought of having anyone, even trusty old Doc Luwin, slicing her open to pull her baby out was terrifying to Mya, even more than the thought of childbirth itself. Her stomach twisted again at the thought and she leaned her elbows on her desk, trying to take a breath and ignore the cramps in her back.  

****

Feeling eyes on her, Mya glanced around and saw Margaery and Garlan, huddled around something on his desk, both eyeing her. Much like Theon, they’d turned into a set of mothering hens, squawking at her every move. “What?” She asked. “What’s wrong?”

****

“You tell us.” Margaery straightened. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” She gestured  a bit awkwardly at Mya’s swollen middle.

****

“Of course.” Mya sat up and reached for a half-finished article on a ring of European art thieves, slipping a piece of blank paper into her typewriter. “Just tired is all.”

****

“You’d tell us if it were something else?” Garlan was looking at Mya as though she were made of Venetian glass and rigged with dynamite. “My wife was exhausted right before Luci was born.”

**  
**“I’ve been exhausted since January.” Mya muttered. “I’m fine, you two. Honest. Now, Margaery, when did you need this article by?”


	14. Loose Ends

Theon knew his pacing was driving Robb crazy, but he couldn’t help it. Nobody had been in to tell them anything in almost an hour, and the last report had merely been a terse, “She’s doing fine, Mr. Greyjoy. Please be patient,” upon which the doctor had beat a hasty retreat. Clearly someone had informed him that patience was not one of Theon’s virtues, or maybe he’d just read the annoyance clear on the younger man’s face. In any case, he hadn’t been back since, and the wait was becoming increasingly frustrating.

****

He hadn’t thought it would happen today...which was ludicrous, really, considering how overdue she was. But as far as everyone else knew, she still had a few weeks to go, and somehow Theon had convinced himself that they had plenty of time yet. He’d dropped her off downtown as usual, and their goodbyes had been brief; she’d given no sign that anything was wrong. Mya’s belly made it hard for her to get out of the Rolls with any semblance of dignity, so Robb had taken to climbing out and giving her a hand. This morning, he’d had to give her a boost from behind as well. They’d all laughed, and after a kiss for him and a pat on the shoulder for Robb, she’d been on her way, fairly waddling now.

****

“Did she say anything to you?” Theon paused in front of Robb, though his feet wanted to keep on going, counting off the tiles in the waiting room. “This morning, I mean?”

****

Robb looked up from the newspaper, a solemn expression on his face. “Yeah, actually. She said, ‘Robb, I think I’m going to give birth today, but don’t tell Theon because then he’d never let me out of his sight.’” That sounded about right, actually, but the smile threatening at the corners of Robb’s mouth told Theon that it was a joke. “C’mon, pal, you were in the car with us the whole time. She never said a word about it. But obviously she was feeling fine this morning, or she wouldn’t’ve went in to the paper.”

****

Theon just shrugged and carried on pacing again. Knowing his wife as well as he did, he doubted that was true. She loved her job, and even though she was damn good at it, she had to fight to be seen as an equal in the newsroom. _And she probably didn’t want to seem weak in front of the damn Tyrell woman._ Theon knew Mya looked at Margaery Baratheon, formerly Tyrell, as somewhat of a role model. He also knew, from an overheard conversation between his wife and Roslin, that she found her boss more than a little intimidating.

****

“I’ll bet you _she_ doesn’t have stretch marks.” Mya had sounded so, well...grumpy, that Theon had paused outside Riverrun’s sitting room to listen. She’d been remarkably cheerful throughout the pregnancy, so he was curious who’d gotten under her skin.

****

“Well of course she doesn’t.” There was a hint of laughter in Roslin’s voice, overlaid with immense patience. “She’s never had a baby, you silly goose. She’s too busy running that newspaper and, you know, skiing in the Alps.” Theon could almost hear the dismissive handwave Roslin was surely giving at that moment.

****

“Ugh, _Rosie,_ that’s not making me feel any better!” A rustling of cushions told him Mya had flopped back on the couch, probably resting her head on Roslin’s shoulder. “How am I ever going to be taken seriously as a journalist...?”

****

_Like this_ was left unspoken, but Theon heard it clearly in her tone. He supposed he should feel some sort of guilt, but it was hard to muster much up; he loved his wife, but he didn’t love the idea of her as some sort of imitation Margaery Baratheon ball-buster journalist. Besides, he had his own theories about how Margaery had kept her perfect, stretch mark-free body, and he was sure they involved certain...compromises on her part.

****

Theon spent a brief moment contemplating Margaery Baratheon and her perfect body as Roslin made vague ‘there, there’ noises from the sitting room. He couldn’t help it...old habits die hard. Eventually, he’d snuck away and went looking for Robb. There was no talking sense into Mya when she was in a mood...better to let Roslin deal with it, was his thinking.

****

Yes, suffice it to say, Mya was probably not pleased that her water had broken at the _Lantern._ Margaery had sounded thrilled, though, when she’d finally gotten Theon on the phone.

****

“Detective Greyjoy? Are you there, Detective?” Her voice was an octave higher than Theon remembered, and slightly breathy, though more in a panicked way than anything else. “Damn this connection...Renly, remind me to have a word with the exchange operator down at the front desk.”

****

“I’m here,” Theon fought off the urge to yell, jiggling the handset of his telephone as if that would help with the poor connection. “Is is the baby?”

****

“I...I think so!” _You_ think _so?!_ Theon wondered if Margaery had taken leave of her senses, but he didn’t say anything. “She was in an awful lot of pain, and...well, she made me promise not to tell you. But my brother’s taking her to the hospital right now, and-” The connection crackled, and Margaery made an impatient noise. “Just get down there, Detective.”

****

And so he had, dragging Robb along with him for moral support. The cross-town drive had been quick, all the moreso since Theon hadn’t stopped for one red light the entire way. Robb had quipped that _he_ wasn’t the one having the baby, and that Theon could slow down and obey traffic laws, but they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Garlan Tyrell had been waiting outside the hospital doors when they pulled up, smiling that irritatingly perfect smile of his.

****

“She’s in good hands, Greyjoy!” He’d handed Theon and Robb each a fat cigar and tipped his hat at them. “It’s back to work for me, but best of luck to you.”

****

That’d been almost five hours ago, and Theon was about to burst. He’d made the requisite phone calls: to Alyce, Catelyn, Roslin, Asha down at the club, and spoken with the doctors. Now there was nothing left to do besides wait, and he didn’t know how much more waiting he had in him. Robb was sitting and leafing through an old newspaper, cool as you please, but _he_ had four younger brothers and sisters...he’d been through this a time or two.

****

“I’m gonna go see,” Theon said, making for the door.

****

Robb glanced up over the sports page with a doubtful expression. “I don’t think you wanna do that, pal.”

****

Theon ignored him and slipped out of the waiting room, glancing in both directions for any nurses that might be likely to impede his progress. The hall was blessedly free of staff, though, and he crept through the maternity ward searching for his wife. He was surprised at the lack of activity, but the sounds coming from behind the closed doors up and down the hall were disturbing reminders that the term ‘labor’ was used to refer to childbirth for a reason. Theon sincerely hoped that Mya had made it to the hospital in time to receive anaesthetic.

****

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than a harsh, choked cry filled the corridor. A pudgy, tired-looking nurse with blood spattered across her white uniform had slipped out of a room two doors down from where Theon stood, frowning when she saw him. “What are you doing down here? You need to get back to the fathers’ room.” She was jotting something on a chart hanging next to the door, and he caught a glimpse of the patient’s name. _M. Greyjoy...Jesus, that was_ her _screaming?_

****

“I want to see my wife,” he said, trying not to flinch at the agonized cry that came out of the cracked door behind her. “It’s been too long...I just wanted...” He’d sidled up to the nurse, hoping to slip past her.

****

“Oh no, sir, you can’t go in there.” The nurse was standing firm, arms crossed over her chest.

****

“I can and I will,” Theon said, injecting a tone of authority into his voice. “Just scoot on over, there’s a good girl.” He nudged the woman gently, wondering if maybe he would have to flash his badge at her, but she finally stepped aside with an odd little smile on her face.

****

Later, looking back on it, he realized that smile should’ve tipped him off that something wasn’t quite right. But in the moment, all he could think about was Mya. The room was poorly lit and stiflingly hot; Theon’s first instinct was to throw back the heavy curtains and open a window. But all of that had been forgotten when he’d seen Mya.

****

Resting, her eyes were closed and she was taking long, steady breaths. Her thick black hair was soaked with sweat and plastered to her neck, and her thin cotton hospital gown had fallen down over one shoulder. She looked completely exhausted, and Theon wondered how in the world she could keep going like this.

****

The doctor positioned between her spread legs patted Mya’s bare thigh without looking up, leaving a smear of blood. “Almost there, Mrs. Greyjoy. Let’s push again, shall we?” His voice sounded fuzzy and distant, but dimly, Theon registered that his child was about to be born.

****

“...can’t...hurts...please, my husband...”

****

She squirmed a little on the bed and the doctor leaned back, calmly asking a nurse for forceps. The two simultaneous motions gave him a clear glimpse of just how close his child was to entering the world, and Theon felt his gorge rise. He knew, of course, how it all worked, but to _see_ it? Theon was intimately aware of just how much punishment the human body could take, but that...well, it just didn’t seem physically possible. But Mya was bearing down now, crying out from between clenched teeth and gripping the hand of the matronly nurse by her side.

****

Backing up, he ran into the plump nurse who’d tried to bar his way. She smiled at him again, a little more brightly this time, and patted him on the shoulder as he fumbled with the door knob. “Mmm _hmm,_ just like I thought...can’t stand the sight of your own handiwork, can you? Just go on back to the fathers’ room now, before I have to pick you up off the floor. Have a smoke, it’ll help you calm down.”

****

Taking her advice, he lit cigarettes one after another as the afternoon faded into evening, and _still_ there was no word. Roslin had arrived around five, and fallen asleep on Robb’s shoulder by seven, having rushed down from Winterfell courtesy of Jon and his old pickup truck. He didn’t know how she could sleep at a time like this, but if there was anyone more used to babies being born than Robb, it was Roslin with her massive collection of siblings, half-siblings, and various aunts, uncles and cousins.

****

Theon had just smoked his last Lucky, and was trying to nudge Roslin over enough to sneak Robb’s packet of Red Apple’s out of his breast pocket when a weary-looking nurse poked her head in. “Mr. Greyjoy? You can head on back now...they’re both doing just fine.”

****

He hadn’t believed it, not really. How could they be ‘fine’ after such a long time in labor? It just didn’t make any sense. But Theon had to admit it was true as he sat beside Mya’s bed, watching her wrap and re-wrap their dark-haired boy in a blue blanket Sansa had knit. She looked tired, of course, but radiantly happy all the same.

****

The baby, on the other hand, looked...well, like a baby. With a thatch of soft black hair and a complexion that was slowly fading from red to a healthy pink, he reminded Theon of nothing so much as a little elf. Of course, Roslin and Mya had been in ecstasies over his tiny little feet and cloudy grey eyes. Theon was just glad he had all ten fingers and toes and the proper equipment between his legs. Now if they could just settle on a name...

****

“You really don’t like Eddard?” Mya asked, dragging her gaze away from the baby. “Robb will be so disappointed.”

****

“Then let him name his first kid Eddard,” Theon told her. “It’s his dad’s name, not mine. Besides, any kid named Eddard is either gonna be called Ned or Eddie for short, and neither of ‘em sound right with Greyjoy.”

****

Mya laughed softly, trailing off when the baby fussed slightly. “Fine, but I’m warning you right now, Balon is a little...old-fashioned for me.”

****

“No, no, I agree with you there. But maybe...” Theon shrugged. “Some of my family’s names aren’t so bad. What about Rodrik?”

****

There was a long pause before Mya spoke, and he watched as she brushed a hand over the boy’s head, considering. “Rodrik. Like your brother?”

****

He could hear the doubt in her voice, knew she was remembering what few stories from his childhood he’d shared with her. In all honesty, he had no idea why he’d suggested that particular name, but looking down at his son, it just felt...right.

****

“Mmmhmm, but my brother was named after my uncle Rodrik Harlaw. My mother’s brother. The one who took Asha in. He’s a good man, hardly involved in the family business at all. Has a real nice library, if I remember right...”

****

“Rodrik...” Mya shifted the baby in her arms, lips pursed. Theon held his breath, waiting. “Rodrik Robert Greyjoy. I like it,” she finally said. “It’s got a nice ring to it. Do you want to hold Rodrik, Pops?”

****

“I...uh...alright...” He hadn’t quite gotten used to holding such a tiny, fragile bundle, but Mya was already tucking the baby into his arms. Theon sat perfectly still while his wife arranged his arms just so and leaned back on her pillow, smiling at them. The baby, _Rodrik,_ was warm against his chest and longer than he’d realized. “I think he’s going to be tall,” he told Mya. “Don’t you think so?”

****

“Mmm, we’ll see,” she said. “It’s hard to tell right now.” She smiled at them again and patted the bed next to her, drowsily happy. “Come lay by me, Detective.”

****

Theon placed the baby back in her arms when she held them out for him, then tucked himself up next to his wife, careful not to jostle her. Mya tucked her head against his chest when he slung an arm around her, the familiar motion made new by the small bundle she held. They talked quietly for a bit longer, but Rodrik fell asleep easily and Mya followed soon after. Theon was far too wound up for sleep, though.

****

His entire life thus far had been, well...a mess, if he were being honest with himself. The way he lived...day to day, moment to moment, that was no way to raise a son. Even his own father, who was never a candidate for Father of the Year, had always provided for his children. Pyke, as shitty as it was, had belonged to his father, and his father before him. What did Theon have? A borrowed car and a rented cottage...when he even bothered to pay the rent at all.

****

_But you’ll at least_ be _there,_ he consoled himself. _Unlike Bob Baratheon._ The comfort that gave him was short-lived, though. It was the middle of the night, and Theon couldn’t stop the gears of his mind from turning while Mya and Rodrik slept. How different was he, really, from good ol’ Bob? How many women had he had over the years, then tossed aside without a further thought? He’d never been particularly diligent about rubbers, no matter how many times Ned or Robb warned him...it was entirely possible Theon had a little Mya of his own out there somewhere with grey eyes and a sharp smile that faltered when the kids next door teased her about not having a father.

****

He had honestly never considered the possibility before, but now that he had, it seemed more likely than not. He wondered if Mya had ever had the same thought; he’d never made any effort to hide his womanizing ways from her...not that it was even possible, with Roslin always there to rat him out. If she had, she’d never once brought it up to him, for which he was incredibly grateful. Theon was not a sentimental man, but looking down at his son, he found himself hoping fervently that _this_ was his only child, his one chance to do something meaningful with his life.

****

If Theon wasn’t a sentimental man, he was even less of a “vows” type of man. He normally left all that swearing and pledging and honor bullshit to Robb and Jon. But now, in the quiet, pre-dawn darkness of Kingsport General, he swore to himself that he would be a better father than his father had been, and that his son would grow up to be a better man than he was.

********  
  
The end of summer had faded into a sunny autumn, warmer than the month of October had any right to be. Theon strained to reach the radio dial from his position on the couch, his other hand keeping the sleeping baby on his chest still.  Even at a month old, Rodrik was typically a sound sleeper, but he’d kept Mya up the night before. Luckily, that had been on Friday night, so on Saturday, Theon had been able to send her back to bed for a late morning nap that had stretched into the afternoon.

****

Rodrik, Theon had discovered, was soothed by the sound of radio, especially the staccato call of a baseball game. They laid together on the couch and listened to the Yankees beat up on the Giants for a time, but when Theon woke up, static was the only thing playing. Rodrik was fast asleep and drooling against his chest, one tiny hand scrunched up in his father’s undershirt.

****

Finally, Theon just left the radio on and carried his son to the ancient bassinet Catelyn Stark had loaned them. Thankfully, Rodrik went down easily, with only a faint whimper of protest before he settled back into sleep. Now that the little bugger was down for the count, Theon was planning on getting a few things done. Humming to himself, he gathered up a pile of dirty work shirts to take up to the big house for cleaning and kicked the rest of the dirty laundry under the bed.

****

At the big house, a maid, not Kyra, he noticed, took the basket of laundry from him and shooed him out of the kitchen. Arya and Rickon clattered by on roller skates, Bran rolling after in his chair, and from somewhere upstairs he could hear Sansa screaming Arya’s name...obviously Catelyn was at one of her charity luncheons. The racket was more than he could take, so Theon slipped out the front door and went to visit with Jory and Gendry in the garage. The three of them played a few hands of hold ‘em poker and passed around a dusty bottle of booze that Jory had bought from one of Theon’s fellow bootleggers.

****

“Ah, shit, I fold,” Theon said, tossing his hand in with a yawn. “I gotta go get the mail. Mya ordered some new-fangled thingamajig, this breast pump thingy from Sears and Roebuck. What it does is...” He trailed off at the pained look on Gendry’s face, hands frozen in mid-gesture in front of his own chest. “Anyway, she’s dyin’ for the damn thing.”

****

Much to his dismay, however, the big tin mailbox at the end of the drive contained only envelopes. There was a letter addressed to Catelyn from her sister in Eyrie, one to Arya from Jon, various bills, a handbill from the Kingsport Opera House...and one creamy envelope addressed to “Mr. and Mrs. Theon Greyjoy” in a slanting script that pushed the edge of legibility. Theon checked the postmark...Paris.

****

“Shit.” He stood and thought a minute, tossing the rest of the mail back into the box. “Shit shit shit.”

****

He’d meant to explain things to Mya _months_ ago, but the right time had just never presented itself. And he supposed he could just toss the envelope into the garbage and act like it had never existed. Things had been going so well...they were happy, why change that now? In the past, he would’ve done just that, and not given it another thought. But things were different now; Theon had grown accustomed to having someone he didn’t have to hide anything from.

****

Mya was awake when he got back to the cottage, standing in front of the icebox and looking slightly panicked over the edge of the glass bottle of milk she was drinking straight out of. Considering how many times she’d scolded him for the same behavior, she _should_ have a bit of a guilty conscious. _Well good, then,_ he told himself. _That’ll help._

****

“Thirsty, dove?”

****

“Mmhmm.” She had the bottle capped and put away before he even shut the front door. “What’d we get in the mail? Did my pump come?”

****

“No pump,” he told her, holding up the envelope from Paris. “Just this.”

****

Mya came over and plucked it from his hands, making a pleased hum at the smooth decadence of the stationary. “What is it?” She asked, running a finger under the flap.

****

And here Theon faced his second dilemma...just how much should he admit to knowing? Before he could even think about answering, she’d already pulled a single sheet of folded paper from the envelope. He couldn’t read the writing from where he stood, but he could see it was only a sentence or two, followed by a signature. Mya stared at the note for far longer than was necessary before finally letting it drop to the floor.

****

“He’s alive.” The look she gave him hurt Theon just as much as he’d expected it to. “You knew, didn’t you?”

****

“I-”

****

She raised a hand in protest. “Don’t you dare lie to me, Theon Greyjoy. I’ll know if you do.”

****

Theon took a deep breath and started over. “I knew something was going to go down, but not what.” That wasn’t the complete truth, but close enough to it that he felt reasonably confident he could sell it to his wife. “He was never meant to actually get to trial.”

****

“Did you know he wasn’t dead this entire time, though?” He was so tempted to lie, but he just nodded his head. Mya was staring daggers at him, and Theon fought off the urge to scuff his feet against the floor like a naughty schoolboy. “Theon! You dragged me out to that wretched island for a _sham_ of a funeral and let me think we wouldn’t ever have to worry about your family again, and he’s been living it up in Paris, of all places, this _entire_ time?!”

****

Steadily rising throughout the conversation, Mya’s voice had become perilously close to a shout by the end of her tirade. Before Theon could answer, not that he had an answer, a shrill cry broke the silence in the cottage. The sleeping beast had awoken, hungry as always. Mya closed her eyes, took a single deep breath, and turned on her heel to stalk back to the bedroom.

****

Theon scrubbed a hand through his hair, knowing he should follow after her, but dreading it at the same time. He glanced at the note on the floor, curious what reason Euron would have to write now, after all these months.

****

_Have just had news of the newest addition to the Greyjoy family...I cannot wait to meet him. ~EG_

****

Theon toed the paper under the sofa, feeling a bit sick to his stomach. The thought of his uncle being in the same _country_ as his son disturbed him, so he could only imagine how Mya felt. He went to the bedroom door and knocked, treading lightly.

****

“Sweetheart? Can I come in?”

****

“Fine,” came the muffled reply.

****

Not exactly encouraged by the one-word answer, he rested his head against the warped door for a moment and gathered his thoughts. When he went in, she was cross-legged in a nest of blankets, Rodrik nursing contentedly while silent tears dripped down her cheeks and dotted his dark head.

****

“Mya...” She swiped a hand across her cheek, wiping away tears, and that small gesture sent a pang through him. She knew he hated when women cried; even now, when she had every right to be steaming mad at him, she was trying to stifle her tears. It made him feel even worse than he already did, and a small part of him wondered if that was her intent. _Even if it is, you deserve it,_ he told himself. “I’m sorry, dove. I should’ve told you. I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know when, and then...” He went and sat beside her on the bed, wiping a tear off of her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

****

“Then what?” She held herself stiffly, not giving in just yet.

****

Theon was at a loss. “Then...I just didn’t want to upset you with the baby so close?” He shook his head. “That wasn’t supposed to be a question. I’m sorry, Mya. Honest. And you know I don’t say that very often.”

****

Her weak smile was heartening to see, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I believe you, Theon. But that still doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me.” He began to protest, but she shut him up with a look. “A lie of omission is still a lie. And we’ve had this discussion before... ‘no secrets’, remember? I want to trust you, I really do. But this makes me wonder what else you just...won’t tell me.”

****

He didn’t have an easy answer for her, because Theon knew for a certainty there would be times that it would be better for Mya to not know the details of his family’s goings-on. This had been one of those times, or so he’d thought. But even he could see that he’d stretched it out for a bit too long.

****

“Let me put it this way,” he began, thinking fast. “There are some things that it’s better for you to not know. For legal reasons, if nothing else. But as soon as I _can_ tell you something, from now on I will.”

****

“You better.” Mya ran a finger over Rodrik’s cheek and shifted him to her other breast. The baby glowered up at the interruption in his feeding but quickly settled back in. “This isn’t just about us anymore. I already don’t know what we’re going to tell Rodrik when he gets old enough to ask questions.”

Theon shifted a little uneasily; he didn’t know either and part of him hoped he’d be able to extract himself from his family’s dealings by then. “Let’s worry about that later, yeah?” He leaned back against the headboard and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. She was still tense, her shoulders hard as a rock. Theon rubbed a little circle over her back with his thumb, silently willing her to relax against him the way she always did. “Listen, I know I was wrong. I admit it and I’ve told you it won’t happen again.  But I’m also not going to put you or our son in danger, and I need you to believe that.”

****

“I do,” Mya responded quickly. Her voice began to wobble again, and Theon braced himself. “And I...I do trust you but this is hard. I can’t believe he’s going to just get away with everything he did. What if he comes back?”

****

“He won’t.” Theon smiled a little when she rested the baby on her shoulder, patting his back firmly. He smoothed his hand over his son’s head, upsetting the boy’s mass of cowlicks. _How can he have so much hair when he’s barely a month old?_ he wondered idly, but Mya was looking up at him, her eyes still glistening, and Theon realized she was waiting for him to continue. “I know Euron’s batshit crazy, but he’s not stupid. He can’t buy your ol’ Uncle Stan the way he could buy Qyburn, so until Stannis retires or, more likely, falls down dead in the courtroom, it’s too dangerous for him to come back. He’s stuck eating frogs legs for the next couple decades, I’d bet.” Privately, he knew Euron would weasel his way back into the States far sooner, but he kept that thought to himself.

****

Mya was quiet for a long while, pressing her lips against Rodrik’s forehead when he belched. Eventually she shifted and leaned against Theon. She wasn’t crying anymore, thank God, but he knew she was still uneasy and upset about the whole mess. “If he contacts us again, ever, or if he so much as looks at our son...” She trailed off. Threats had never been Mya’s strong suit and Theon had to hide his grin.

****

“It’ll be fine. There’s an entire ocean between us now, and he’s out of our hair. You can trust me, dove, I swear to God.”

****

Mya sniffed once, and adjusted Rodrik in her arms. “Your Uncle Aeron’s ridiculous Drowned God?”

**  
**“Any God you want, sweetheart.”


End file.
